


A Hunter in Thedas

by SkyChime (Aile)



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Drug Use, Here we go, Multi, Slow Burn Romance, There’s so many names just have the general tag and assume they’re all here, but there’s gonna be romance I swear, fun stuff, general lack of self care from a man who can’t really die, glacial romance really, ill add tags as they become relevant, lamps in inconvenient places to discourage tactical suicide, okay there some eye contact, one day theyll hold hands, sweet baby jesus its 100k and there hasnt been fucking eye contact, the drug is blood, unhealthy drinking habits, were getting there, were gonna hit 100k and they probably won’t have kissed yet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-16 03:35:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 56
Words: 177,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14155758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aile/pseuds/SkyChime
Summary: The Hunter finds himself taking the place of our dear Inquisitor. We’ll see how that goes.





	1. So It Begins

The Good Hunter woke in a room he did not recognize with his hands bound, surrounded by guards wearing unfamiliar uniforms, with a glowing hand that burned like a fire in his bones. 

Not the strangest place he’d ever woken up, but it was definitely on the list. 

He didn’t have much time to gather his surroundings (flame-lit stone walls, cells like a prison but he wasn’t in one. No windows, sturdy doors and his weapons were missing. Fantastic.) before two soldiers came in. One wore armor, and the other robes like a scholar, but with the gait of a fighter. 

The one in armor approached first. “Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now. The Conclave is destroyed, everyone who attended is dead. Except for you.”

The Hunter remained silent. A Conclave? Some sort of meeting that apparently went wrong?

The woman grabbed his lit hand by the shackle as it sparked again, bringing a new wave of fire. “Explain this.”

“I... cannot.”

“What do you mean you can’t?!”

“I don’t know what that is, or where it came from.”

“You’re lying!” The soldier moved as if she was going to strike him, but the other held her back. 

“We need him, Cassandra.”

“I don’t understand,” the Hunter said slowly. “Where am I?”

The robed woman approached. “Do you remember what happened? How this began?”

“I don’t. I was running from something, but I can’t recall what. There was a woman?”

“A woman?”

“We we’re both running, I think. I’m not sure.”

“Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will take him to the rift.” Cassandra moved towards him. 

Leliana simply nodded and left. 

Cassandra removed his manacles, replacing them with a rope. 

“What did happen?” He asked hesitantly. 

“It will be easier to show you.” She led him up a set of stairs (he almost stumbled, which worries him. He felt odd, lighter than he should be) and through a building that looked like a chapel of some kind. 

When the front doors opened, he had to shield his eyes. Sunlight. Actual, direct sunlight. It had been so long, and it showed. Even once his as had adjusted as much as they could, he was still squinting in the light. His mask was, unfortunately, missing, but he still had the rest of the armor Eileen had given him the badge for. 

The sun, however, wasn’t the only thing in the sky. There was a large green hole in the clouds, swirling with large chunks of rock slowly spinning under it. Cassandra must have noticed him staring, and started to explain. “We call it the breach. It’s a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour. It’s not the only such rift, just the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the conclave.”

“An explosion can do this?” It looked like something that belonged in a dream. He only knew he was awake because of the sharp, biting cold and clear, sharp details that were not often present when he dreamt. 

“This one did. Unless we act, the breach may grow until it swallows the world.”

His hand sparked again, and he couldn’t help the noise of pain he made before he could stop himself, but he successfully remained on his feet.

“Each time the breach expands, your mark spreads, and it is killing you. It may be the key to stopping this but there isn’t much time.”

“I understand.”

She looked hopeful, if still unsure. “Then...?”

“I’ll help you in any way I can.” It wasn’t like he could die here. He might as well do what he could for the people here. This clearly wasn’t Yharnam, and these mountains had a different shape than the ones surrounding the Castle Cainhurst, so he was far from where he was before. Maybe this was another dream after all. 

The two walked between the buildings. People lining the paths stared as they walked past. 

“They have decided your guilt. They need it. The people of Haven mourn our Most Holy, Divine Justinia, head of the Chantry. The Conclave was hers. It was a chance for peace between mages and templars. She brought their leaders together. Now, they are dead.”

Most holy. A religious leader, then, with a title he hadn’t heard of. The Chantry must be the Church, then. But Mages and Templars? Magic users and... what, knights? This sounded more and more like a fairy tale. 

They approached the gate, and then left the village. 

“We lash out, like the sky, by we must think beyond ourselves, as she did. Until the Breach is sealed.” She pulled out a dagger and cut the ropes around his wrists. “There will be a trial. I can promise no more.”

At least she was honest. 

“Come. It is not far.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“Your mark must be tested on something smaller than than the Breach.” Not a full answer, but enough of one. The two continued along the path. 

They continued along a path, over a bridge and through a large gate that Cassandra commanded the soldiers to open. 

At the top of the next hill, the mark on his hand flashed again, brighter than the last time, carrying a deeper burn with it. The Hunter hissed through his teeth and used is other hand to grab a low wall nearby to avoid stumbling. 

“The pulses are coming faster now. The larger the Breach grows, the more rifts appear, the more demons we face.”

He nodded, and the pair continued. 

The next bridge they passed over collapsed under them, a green bolt from the Breach striking through it. They both fell onto the (thankfully) frozen river below. Another bolt struck the ice ahead, and from the light came a tall, sinewy creature, slopes and fluid. 

Cassandra charged ahead. “Stay behind me!”

This only worked for a few seconds before the ice ahead of him started bubbling black, another one of those creatures rising from it. He glanced around for a weapon, finding a pair of daggers. Not perfect, but better than punching the thing to death. He’d only had to do that a few times before, but that was enough to decide he didn’t like it. 

The creature was thin, but clumsy and slow, worse than those first few beasts he’d had to fight. He easily ducked away from it, and then circled to stab it. The fight was over in under a minute. Looking over, Cassandra had also killed hers and was headed back towards him. 

“Drop your weapons. Now.”

“I need these. What would I do if this happens again when I’m unarmed?”

After a few seconds of tense eye contact, Cassandra sighed and sheathed her sword. “You’re right. I cannot protect you, and I cannot expect you to be defenseless.” She started to walk down the path, but then paused and looked back. “I should remember you agreed to come willingly.”

The two followed the path further into the snow. They were cut off several more times by more of these creatures (demons, he supposed) but they were hardly any trouble. 

As they crested another hill, Cassandra turned to him. “We’re getting close to the rift. You can hear the fighting.”

And he could. Metal armor clanking, swords hitting something (demons probably), and there were occasional flashes of light. 

When the fight was visible, they immediately joined, and it was over in a matter of minutes. There were two soldiers, wearing the same uniform as the others he had seen, and two who were not. 

One was the shortest man he had ever seen, wearing a thick jacket but a low cut shirt, and the other was in robes, holding a staff that glowed at the tip. 

The man with the staff (and pointed ears? What?) approached. “Quickly, before more come through!” The man grabbed the Hunter’s wrist (who had to resist the urge to strike at the sudden contact) and thrust it towards the rift. It immediately lit up, weaving a beam of light to the rift, which shrank and then disappeared. It felt like lightning agony, and he nearly collapsed this time, but stayed up on shaking legs. He hoped it wasn’t noticeable. Weakness would be a bad thing to show right now. 

“What did you do?” the Hunter asked. 

“I did nothing. The credit is yours.”

“So I can help after all.”

“Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark on your hand. I theorized the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach’s wake, and it seems I was correct.”

Cassandra spoke up. “Meaning it could also close the Breach itself.”

“Possibly.” The man turned to the Hunter. “It seems you hold the key to our salvation.”

“Good to know!” The small man walked up to the group. “And here I thought we’d be ass deep in demons forever.” He turned specifically to the Hunter and gave a mock bow. “Varric Tethras. Rogue, storyteller, and occasional unwelcome tag along.” He winked at Cassandra, who scowled. 

“That’s a nice crossbow you have.” It had remarkable craftsmanship. 

“Isn’t she? Bianca and I have been through a lot together. Nice outfit, I’ve never seen one like it. 

It wasn’t too unusual for hunters to get attached to their weapons and name them. He never had, but supposed he understood, and smiled at the man. “Thank you.”

“Absolutely not.” Cassandra glared at the man. “Your help is appreciated, Varric, but-“

Varric cut her off. “Have you been in the valley lately, Seeker? Your soldiers aren’t in control anymore. You need me.”

“Ugh.”

The taller man turned to him. My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions. I’m pleased to see you still live.”

“He means,” Varric chimed in, “he kept that mark from killing you while you slept.”

“Then I owe you my thanks.”

“Thank me if we can close the Breach without killing you in the process.” He turned. “Cassandra, you should know, the magic here is unlike any I have ever seen. Your prisoner is no mage. Indeed, I find it difficult to imagine any mage having such power.”

“Understood. We must get to the forward camp, quickly.” She and Solas started down the path. 

Varric glanced at him and smiled. “Well, Bianca’s excited.”

And off they went.


	2. Moving forwards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And here the fighting begins in ernest :D

 

The group made their way through the rubble and snow, only encountering a small groups of demons. 

His hand sparked as they jogged along, and he stumbled briefly before righting himself. Varric looked over. “Shit, are you alright?”

“I’m fine.”

They jogged a while longer, up to a staircase in the hill. 

“So, are you innocent?” 

“I don’t know. I can’t remember what happened.”

Varric chuckled. “Not the best story to spin.”

“If only I was spinning one. Then at least I’d know what was going on.”

“Fair enough.”

They went on in silence for a while, until Solas spoke up. “We’re almost there.”

The Hunter could see a large gate ahead in the snow, but he could also see a rift in front of it. He sighed and broke into a sprint, launching himself at the nearest demon. With the rest of their group, and the few soldiers outside fighting, the fight was over quickly, and the Hunter once again closed the rift. 

Cassandra shouted op for them to open the gate, while Solas turned to him. “We are clear for the moment. Nicely done.”

Varric grinned. “Whatever that thing on your hand is, it sure is useful.”

The group approached the woman in robes the hunter recognized from earlier, and a man in a hat that reminded him uncomfortably of the Healing Church’s odd choices in headwear. They appeared to be arguing at the moment, but looked at them when they approached. 

The man in the large hat spoke first. “Ah, here they come.”

Leliana spoke over him. “You made it. Chancellor Roderick, this is-“

Roderick cut her off. “I know who he is. As Grand Chancellor of the Chantry, I hereby order you to take this criminal to Val Royeaux to face execution.”

Cassandra glowered. “'Order me’? You are a glorified clerk. A bureaucrat!”

“And you are a thug, but a thug who supposedly serves the Chantry!”

“We serve the Most Holy, Chancellor,” Leliana chimed in, “as you well know.”

The man scowled. “Justinia is dead! We must elect her replacement, and obey her orders on the matter.”

The Hunter looked around. “So... none of you are in charge?”

The Chancellor flared at him. “You killed everyone who was in charge!” 

They argued a while longer, the Chancellor wanting to retreat and Cassandra wanting to charge through the mountains to the temple. Leliana brought up a mountain path with some lost scouts on it, out of the way but likely safer. What really confused the Hunter was when they asked what he wanted to do. 

“You’re asking me? The suspect?”

Solas turned. “You’re the one with the mark.”

“And the one we must keep alive,” Cassandra added. “Since we cannot decide on our own...” 

The Hunter looked up toward the path. “Through the mountains. It’s out of the way, and we might be able to find those scouts.”

Cassandra didn’t look too happy, but she didn’t argue. “Leliana, bring everyone left in the valley. Everyone,” she called back as she walked on.

“On your head be the consequences, Seeker,” the chancellor called after her. 

They hadn’t gone too far up the path before they hit a set of ladders. 

“The tunnel should be just ahead. The path to the temple lies just beyond it.”

“A tunnel?” 

“An old mining complex. These mountains are full of them.”

There were a few demons waiting for them up at the top, taken down in a matter of seconds. Still clumsy and slow. 

The tunnel itself was beautiful. The walls of ice in some places were clear and shiny enough to see your reflection in a few places. 

The Hunter still felt off. He was lighter than he should be, and everything was louder. He paused for a moment to see his reflection and almost choked. His face was finer than it used to be, and tattooed. That and he had pointed ears. He kept moving, to keep from drawing suspicion from the others, but his hands shook when he reached up to confirm that he did in fact have pointed ears now. 

They reached the end of the tunnel in no time at all, and almost tripped over the dead scouts. 

Varric looked at them. “Well, I guess we found your scouts. 

Cassandra stopped. “This cannot be all of them. The others could be further ahead.”

Sure enough, a short distance down the path, they could hear the sounds of fighting, and sped up. 

A small group of scouts were fighting near a rift, and there was a new creature, a demon he hadn’t seen before. It was long and thin, faster than the ones he had seen so far, and he was only knocked off his feet once before he was wary of its ability to teleport. 

He slid around one as it swung, immediately shoving his daggers into its back. He pulled them back out and slid again as it tried to turn to face him, and stabbed it again. Fast, but not particularly sturdy, and it fell like the rest. 

With the rift closed, the scouts turned to them. They thanked him for coming to save them, which he wasn’t quite sure what to do about. He was only doing his job. 

As they continued, it wasn’t much further to the temple. The building was in ruins, burned, some places still on fire, seared corpses lying on the ground. 

“Cassandra turned to him as they walked. “This is where our scouts found you.”

“Found me?”

“They say you stepped out of a rift, and then fell unconscious. Some say there was a woman behind you.”

“I’m afraid I can’t remember enough to confirm that.”

They stepped through an archway, down into the crater the Breach had left. There was a rift in the center, larger than any he’d seen, directly below the breach. 

The Hunter looked up. “So, any ideas on how I’m getting up there?” It looked rather far. There were rocks floating, he might be able to find a path. 

Solas shook his head. “No, this rift is first, and should be the key.”

Well, that made things significantly easier. 

He turned at movement behind them, thinking it was demons, but it was Leliana with soldiers in tow. 

She approached. “You’re here! Thank the maker.”

Cassandra stepped up. “Leliana, have your men take up positions around the temple.”

She nodded and left. Cassandra turned back to the party. “Let’s find a way down. Carefully,” she said looking directly at the Hunter, who was thinking about just jumping over the railing. 

He shrugged and they started around the pathway circling the pit. 

A sort moment later, a voice sounded through the area. “Now is the our of our victory. Bring forth the sacrifice.”

The hunters ears perked up (and actually twitched godsdamnit this would take getting used to). “Who was that?”

“At a guess, the person who created the breach,” Solas explained. 

They continued, the wall and floor now speckled with red crystals that grew larger as they went. The Hunter approached one of the larger ones to study it. It was a deep red, and he could swear he heard it singing, which was unnerving, to say he least. 

He reached forwards to touch it, but Varric appeared next to him. “Hey, don’t touch that.” He looked agitated, more than he had been. “It’s red lyrium.”

“Red.... lyrium?”

“I saw it back in Kirkwall. It’s evil, don’t touch it.”

The Hunter nodded and stepped back. It was definitely singing, quietly but forcefully. He didn’t like it at all, but it was strangely soothing to listen to. 

The same voice resounded from nowhere. “Keep the sacrifice still.”

A second voice, a woman this time. “Someone, help me!”

Cassandra startled. “That is Divine Justinia’s voice.”

They dropped down into the pit and approached the rift, which was crystalline, unlike the ones they had seen before.

The voice called for help again, but then a third voice rang out from nowhere. His own. “What’s going on here?”

Groggy, and tired like he’d just fought a hoard, but it was definitely his. 

Cassandra turned to him sharply. “That was your voice. Most holy called out to you. But-“

She was cut off by a bright flash of light. For a moment, there were ghostly images in the air. Most were dark, mounded shapes with red eyes, but the Divine was clear, held in place with a red light. 

A figure ran in, the Hunter himself, almost limping and still wearing his crow mask. So they must have taken in when they picked him up. “What’s going on here?”

The Divine cried out, “Run while you can, warn them!”

The same voice from before, one of the red shadows. “We have an intruder. Kill him. Now.”

The light flashed again, and the scene disappeared. 

Cassandra whirled to face him. “You were there! Who attacked? And the Divine... is she? Is this vision true? What are we seeing?”

“I don’t know.” Vaguely, the memory was there, but hazy, buried. Now wasn’t the time to dig it out. 

“Echoes of what happened here. The Fade bleeds into this place.” Solas stepped forwards. “This rift is not sealed, but it is closed… albeit temporarily. I believe with the mark, the rift can be opened and then sealed properly and safely. However, opening the rift will likely attract attention from the other side.”

Cassandra stood tall. “That means demons. Stand ready!”

The Hunter lifted his hand towards the shifting crystal mass, and the same stream of light and pain appeared, breaking it open into a rift. 

From this rift stepped the biggest demon he’d seen so far. Tall, taller than two men, purple, and scaled. It laughed and stepped towards them. 

“Now,” shouted Cassandra, and streams of arrows came towards it, but they weren’t enough. A real fight then. The Hunter sprinted forwards. 

It wasn’t far, and it swung at him as he approached. He slid between its legs and buried his daggers in the back of one if its knees, between the scale plates. 

It roared in pain and spun around, faster than he had expected, and he barely managed to get out of the way of a huge fist. 

The rest of the group caught up, looking stunned, but they also began to attack. 

It was still focused on the Hunter, who was doing a great job of avoiding it, until it started to produce lightning like a darkbeast. He avoided the fist, but the sparks caught him. Scrambled to his feet and out of the way, avoiding the next swing and darting past to sink his daggers into its leg again. 

He didn’t think much of it, but most of the others had backed away, watching in shock as he fought. Had they never met a Hunter before?

It was decently well, but the Hunter was off balance. He was lighter than normal and it was throwing him off, and he failed to get out of the way fast enough, taking a giant fist to the ribs, throwing him back a dozen feet.

He had felt his ribs crack, but didn’t have his tools or vials. This was a dangerous fight though, and he couldn’t afford to back out. Injuries could be worried about later. He dashed back into the fray, which the others had rejoined. It’s back was currently to him, so he ran and jumped, sinking his daggers into its waist and climbing as the thug roared in rage and pain. 

He made it up to its shoulders, and wasted no time plunging his daggers repeatedly into its neck and face. If dissipated from under him, and he fell to the ground. Quickly, he stood and approached the rift, using the mark on his hand to seal it. 

It took longer than the others, but it snapped and a bright light snapped up towards the Breach. It was the last thing he saw before he fell unconscious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, let me know what you think!
> 
> Also, it’s April Fools tomorrow, so keep it under control, yeah?  
> April fools bring May duels and all that.


	3. It continues

The Hunter once again woke somewhere he didn’t recognize, but he was in a bed this time, and no guards were in the room. 

He sat up quickly and almost slid back down when his ribs loudly protested. His chest was wrapped in bandages, and they looked like they’d been changed recently. 

He was shirtless, but he was wearing pants, and he was under a thick, heavy blanket. The room he was in was freezing, and when he (carefully) stood and walked to the window, there was snow outside. 

Now he was in a relatively safe place, and could reflect on what had happened during the last few days. He sat back down. Quite a lot had happened. 

He had woken in the chantry dungeon, learned his sparking hand (which was calm right now) could close rifts, and he had killed a big purple demon. An eventful day, to be sure. 

He thought back to before that. His memories were hazy, but he had something at least. He remembered waking suddenly, on the floor in a hall. He had heard a woman calling for help. He had gone through the door between them, seen a tall, dark being. 

The thing had been a grey green, thin man, as tall as two men. It had the same red crystal (lyrium, Varric had called it) that seemed to be growing out of it. 

He had armored men with him, the armor thick, with some winged creature on it- he hadn’t been particularly focused on the armor. The thing had ordered his death, the woman telling him to run. That was the Divine, if he remembered correctly. 

She had been held by some kind of magic, but had kicked the creature’s hand, making it drop this strange metal orb it had been holding. It had rolled towards him, and he had picked it up with the hand that was now marked. That must have been where he’d gotten the mark. 

He remembered being in this strange grey/green place, surrounded by beasts still half human, and running from the hoard. He’d seen a bright shape, could see it was the Divine as he crawled closer, and remembered jumping through a hole in the air. He must have been in the fade then, if he had stepped out of a rift. 

The Hunter tried to remember how he’d gotten to that hall in the first place. He remembered slaying that nightmare, feathers and jewelry and shadows (the nurse, his mind told him, but he didn’t know why) at the top of Micolash’s tower. 

He had returned to the dream to find it on fire, to doll telling him that Gherman was waiting in the garden. He had gone, and Gherman had wanted to kill him. He refused, and they fought. He couldn’t remember the victor, though. 

This startled him back to reality. He closed his eyes and focused, trying to find his link back to the dream. It was faint, but after a moment he did find it. 

He stood, deciding to test it. It took more focus than usual, but he succeeded on drawing a weapon to him. His saif was missing, he must have had it when he was found by the soldiers, but the saw spear was there. He drew the pistol as well, his Evelyn missing, and dismissed both once he was satisfied they were substantial and functioning. 

His ribs protested, but he wasn’t done yet. He did, however draw a vial and plunge it into his leg, immediately feeling better. He knew it wouldn’t heal his ribs, merely speed their recovery, but it made an excellent painkiller. 

Next, clothes. He stood, legs slightly apart and arms held a bit away from his sides, and concentrated. Standard hunter set, the first he’d found in the city. Again, it was more difficult than usual, but he successfully called it. His clothes swapped instantly, including the bandages, which he winced at, and immediately swapped back. The bandages were ruffled, but remained in place. 

His major concerns cleared, he turned his focus to himself. He was lighter than usual, different. A finer face and bigger eyes, pointed ears. It was still dawn, but he could see like it was the afternoon. Enhanced night vision? Useful. He found he could, in fact, move his ears a little, which was odd, but alright. Better this than being a beast. 

He straightened. Now for the fun part. Testing his range of motion would be difficult with his injured chest, but it was possible. He did the standard stretches first, and then started testing. If anything, he was more flexible than usual. He realized when he touched the back of his neck that there was some kind of salve there, over the small branded runes. It smelled more of herbs than anything else, but he left it alone for now. 

Satisfied that nothing was terribly wrong, he sat back down on the bed. He would need to adjust in combat, and likely tighten his armor, but he would survive. 

Now it was time to plan. He was in an unfamiliar place, a world he didn’t know, in a body that was his but wasn’t. He couldn’t claim memory loss forever. 

Or could he?

An unknown force granting him a mark with the power to seal holes between worlds. An event like that could plausibly cause amnesia. He could claim he remembered nothing before waking up in the chantry dungeon. It would be easier to learn about the world if people were actually explaining things to him. 

With his chest protesting, he laid back down. The sun had finished rising, and he could hear people moving outside. Soldiers, most likely. 

A short while later, someone opened the door. A young woman, who had ears like his and was carrying a box, walked cautiously into the room, closing the door behind her. 

She dropped the box when she saw him awake, startling backwards. “Oh!” She looked scared to speak and her words shook. “Terribly sorry, I didn’t know you were awake.”

Lord? This was new. He sat up slowly. “Why are you frightened? Where is this?”

“H-Haven, mi’lord. L-lady Cassandra will want to know you’re awake. At once, she said at once!”

“A moment, please. What’s happened?”

She paused a moment. “The Breach remains, but it’s quiet now. It’s all people have been talking about for the last three days. I-I must tell lady Cassandra you’re awake. At once, she said!” The woman than turned and all but ran from the room. 

Three days? Had he been unconscious for so long?

The Hunter stood, rummaging around the room for clothes. He found a shirt, which was good enough. No shoes, but he wasn’t going very far. The box she had brought contained herbs, with the same smell as the ones on his neck. It likely had healing properties to it. 

He set out from the building, into the village. The chantry seemed like a good place to find the group he had traveled with. As he walked towards it, he saw workers and soldiers stop and stare, doing a kind of salute. He heard them whispering, calling him the ‘Herald of Andraste’, which was greatly unsettling. Andraste? Likely a figure from a religion he knew nothing about. 

He did make it to the chantry, the large, candlelit building from before. A few people were inside, mostly towards the back. Some wore the same hat and robes as the man, the Chancellor he’d met. A religious garb, then, like the church hunters wore. 

He was about halfway across the floor when a door close to the end of the hall opened, and a woman in a yellow satin dress walked out. She was carrying a clipboard (with a candle on it???), but stopped as soon as she saw him.”

Her eyes went wide. “Oh! I hadn’t realized you were awake. The others aren’t here yet.” She approached, and looked at what he was wearing. “Is this what they left you? Not even shoes, and it’s freezing here. Come.”

She led him back to the room she’d just left, which appeared to be her office. Immediately she pulled up a chair from the side and a blanket from seemingly nowhere. She then poured him a cup of tea. 

“Oh, where are my manners? My name is Josephine Montilyet. I am the Inquisition’s ambassador.”

A name was safe enough to give. Something an amnesiac could remember. “My name is Sukest. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

The door to the office flew open and an out of breath man with yellow hair wearing a huge fur-lined coat filled the doorway. 

“Josephine! Have you seen the-“ he then stopped and actually took in the scene. “Oh.” He sagged in relief. “There you are.”

“Sukest, this is Commander Cullen Rutherford, our general.”

The Hunter stood and held out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

The man shook it. “And you as well. We all thought you’d be down a while longer, taking a hit like that.”

Josephine, who had apparently not known about that, whirled on Cullen. “A hit like what?! I was not told he was injured!”

Cullen looked like someone who’d accidentally spilled a secret. “We, uh, um, thought you had your uh, your hands full without us adding to your plate.”

She glared. “What. Happened.”

“He took a hit from a Pride demon, got tossed through the air like a rag doll, and then got back up and rushed the thing.”

Josephine then turned on the Hunter, who sank into his blanket and hid behind his tea. 

“It wasn’t that bad.”

“You have several broken ribs.” Damnit. He had hoped they were just cracked.

“Why are you out of bed?!” When he didn’t reply, she seemed to notice his uncertainty, which didn’t exactly calm her down, but her face did soften. 

“You gave the healers quite the fright, you know. They said you should have been out from the medicine for another day or two.”

The Hunter stood and set down his tea. Josephine looked like she was about to stop him when Cullen interjected “He’s up, he might as well be allowed to walk around.” She didn’t look happy about it, but she didn’t stop him either. 

When they left the office they came almost face to face with Cassandra as she walked out of the room at the end of the hall. She looked annoyed, possibly even more so when she saw the Hunter. “There you are.” And then, to the Cullen, “Go let the healers know he’s still alive and is with me.” Cullen nodded and practically fled the room.

Josephine looked apologetic. “I’ll leave him with you then.” She smiled at the Hunter, “at least take it easy for a while,” and then turned back to her desk. 

Then it was just him. Cassandra looked annoyed, but just sighed. If you’re up, Leliana will want to speak with you.”

The Hunter nodded. “Of course.”

She pulled him into the room she’d just walked out of, where the Chancellor and Leliana were surrounding a a table, looking like they’d just finished an argument. It looked like the sight of the Hunter was going to be enough to start it back up again, but the Chancellor simply walked past him, leaving just the three of them. 

Leliana looked like she had a few choice words to yell after him, but didn’t say them. Instead, she looked to the Hunter. “Up already?”

“The commotion we heard outside was Cullen looking for him. He’s gone to tell the healers that the Herald is alright.”

“Ah.” and then to the Hunter, “We thought you would be out for a while longer, or at least bedridden. I’ve never known a soldier to pull a stunt like that, let alone be up and walking so soon.”

He wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or not, and it showed. 

“It was certainly impressive. Where, might I ask, did you learn to fight like that?”

Now or never. “I don’t know.”

Cassandra looked at him incredulously. “You don’t know?”

“I... “ he needed to not mess this up, “I remember waking yesterday, in the dungeon, and what happened after, but I can’t remember anything from before that.”

Leliana frowned, not looking like she was entirely convinced, but she was listening. 

“Do you remember anything at all? You are a Dalish elf, do you remember the name do your clan? Do you remember your own name?”

“My- my name is Sukest. Dalish?”

Now she looked concerned. “Dalish. Nomadic elves, who travel in clans. They have facial tattoos like yours. Do you truly not remember even that?”

He absently ran a finger across a line of the tattoo he had noticed yesterday. “I... I don’t.” He didn’t have to fake confusion about that. 

So he was an elf now? From a fairy tale? He was trying not to panic, and it must have shown. 

“Well,” Leliana said, “we will try to find out where you came from, then. You had a few odd things with you when you were brought in.”

He perked up (and so did his ears, that was going to get annoying). His weapons?

“Come, I’ll take you do them. Maybe you’ll remember something.” 

The three of them went back down to the basement dungeon, into a side room where Leliana approached a chest in the corner, pulling a key from her robes to unlock it. 

The first thing she lifted up we’re the clothes he had been wearing the day before, followed by his mask, and set them on a nearby table.

He picked up the mask, inspecting it. There didn’t seem to be any damage, luckily. 

“You gave our scouts quite the fright, you know.” Cassandra startled him. “They thought you were some kind of feathered demon when you appeared.”

Leliana retrieved his Saif next, along with his Evelyn. “Do you recognize anything? This,” she held up the gun, “gave a soldier quite the fright the other day. He said it exploded in his hand. Luckily, only the Wall was hurt.”

She gestured to a dent in the wall, impact marks around it. Someone must have fired it. 

He was silent, so she held up the Saif. “What about this?”

He held his hand out, and she gave it to him. It was in its shortened form, so he gave it a few experimental swings, then changed it to its long form. No damage, good. 

Leliana raised her eyebrows. “A peculiar weapon.”

“It is. I wish I could tell you where I got it.” He picked up the Evelyn, which was now lying on the table, and carefully slid it apart to check it. It would need cleaned, but not repairs. He slid it back together. 

“It seems you’ve at least kept your physical memory.” She pulled the last few things from the chest. A music box, a handful of medicinal tablets, a small lantern, a notebook (written in code, thankfully), and a pouch of coins. 

She set all but the music box down. “Do you know what this is?”

He took it from her almost reverently and opened it, but no sound came out. He closed it, wound it, and then reopened it, listening to the familiar tune (a lullaby, he knew, but didn’t know why).

Cassandra looked unsure, but Leliana looked in wonder at the delicate machinery inside. He closed it a few seconds later, but didn’t set it back down, instead holding it close. He carried it out of respect for Gascoigne, for all the hunters he’d slain out of duty. 

It was silent for a few moments. 

Eventually, Leliana spoke. “Well, these are yours. Take them if you wish, though you may not wish to wear the mask in camp. I’ll reach out, see if anyone has seen anything similar.”

He nodded, setting the box down. He didn’t know why the music had effected him so, but this wasn’t the time. 

“What you are wearing can’t be particularly warm. I can have someone bring you something else, or you can keep these.”

“I’ll keep these for now. Thank you.”

Leliana nodded and left, Cassandra following her. The Hunter quickly changed back into his crowfeather garb, and stashed everything back into their respective pockets, aside from the music box. He didn’t know why he had been physically carrying it all this time, he could easily have lost it. 

He focused for a moment, sending it back to the dream, and then set about exploring the basement in ernest. 

The basement had several rooms in it, one of them hidden, dusty and out of the way, that opened to a ladder. Of course, he decided to climb it. 

It was longer than he thought, and by the time he got to the top his ribs were screaming in protest. He snatched another vial from the dream and immediately plunged it into his leg. Much better. 

He started exploring the room he found himself in. It was small, with a runic circle on the floor in light, faintly luminescent blue, but the first thing he noticed was the lamp set up in the middle of the room. It was an exact copy of the lamps he had seen back in the city. 

He hesitantly stepped into the circle and snapped his fingers over the lamp. It immediately lit, and the familiar messengers surrounded it. He knelt down to it and returned to the dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I gave him inventory. It’s not the weirdest mechanic in the game, and it would be pretty suspicious to carry around a bunch of blood vials. 
> 
> He does have runes, as mentioned. The tool itself looks like a brand, so I imagine they’re branded onto the back of the hunter’s head/neck.  
> Sukest in particular has Blood Rapture, Oedon Writhe, Anti-Clockwise Metamorphasis (the extra stamina one), and he’s a Hunter of Hunters.  
> So in effect, he can heal with viscerals, gain bullets from viscerals, Go an inhuman amount of time without needing to rest and recover, and he recovers faster than most. 
> 
> Also, ‘blood echoes’ translate to something like ‘lingering will’. The hunt was a night, even though the night probably lasted several days or weeks worth of time, but these echoes carried the thoughts and duties and expectations of previous hunters/others. This is how he knows what bosses are called, item official names, and information found in their descriptions, but he doesn’t know that’s how he knows, so it mostly just freaks him out. 
> 
> This has been a long enough note, I’ll see y’all later.


	4. Getting the Ball Rolling

The dream was almost exactly as he remembered it. It was no longer on fire, and Gherman was nowhere to be found, but the doll and the messengers and the flowers remained the same. 

The doll stood as he approached. “Good Hunter, you have returned.”

He simply smiled and nodded as he walked up the steps into the workshop. The tools were as they always were, the books still in messy piles on the floor. 

Outside, behind the workshop, was the stump with the adorned messengers, but there was also a new gravestone, one with a symbol similar to the one on Cassandra’s breastplate, a few messengers lingering near the base. This must be the stone that would take him back to the chantry. 

The garden near the front of the Dream was locked again, the field seemingly undisturbed. The shop messengers, however, offered Gherman’s scythe. He must have won the fight. But why couldn’t he remember?

“Good Hunter, does something trouble you?”

He nearly jumped out of his skin. He’d never get used to the unsettlingly quiet way she walked. “It’s- It’s nothing. Thank you.” He smiled at the doll. He felt bad for her, but he didn’t know how to help. As far as he knew she didn’t have a name, and who was he to make one for her?

Having checked that the dream was intact and accessible, he went back to the chantry, reappearing in that same dusty attic room. 

He slid down the ladder, closing and re-concealing the door, and then climbed back up the stairs. Going outside, he confirmed that, as usual, his time in the dream had cost him no time at all in the waking world. 

That said, he’d been unconscious for three days. It would probably be a good idea to find food. The tavern, maybe? He didn’t think the coins he had would be any good, though. 

As it turned out, he didn’t need to worry. As soon as he walked in Varric waved him over, calling for stew to be brought over. He sat down carefully, trying not to aggravate his ribs. 

“Hey, look who’s back from the dead!” Varric grinned. “Thought you were a goner there for a while.”

The Hunter made a non committal noise and shrugged. “I made it out well enough.”

“This time, sure.” The smile dropped. “But seriously, where’d you learn to fight like that? I’ve never seen or heard of anything like it.”

“I don’t know. Amnesia, from the mark.”

Varric looked startled, then concerned. “Completely?”

“I remember my name, and how to fight, but that’s it. Just what happened after waking up in the chantry’s basement with a glowing hand.”

Varric’s frown deepened. “How are you holding up? That’s a lot for one person to take in a day.”

“Honestly? I can barely keep up. I know the mages and templars are at war, and they were trying to meet for peace when it blew up, but I don’t know what that means. I get that mages can throw fire and lightning, but what’s a templar? Some kind of knight?”

Varric let out a low whistle. “You must’ve hit your head pretty hard. Solas would be the better one to ask, but I can explain the basics.”

And explain he did. For the better part of the next hour, he explained the mage-templar situation, about the rebellion, and about what was going on because of it. 

Eventually, they both finished eating. “The healers were looking for you earlier, might want to go check in so they know you’re still standing. It’s out the door and and ahead, up the steps.”

The Hunter waved as they went their separate ways, and then took Varric’s advice and set about looking for the healers. 

The healers looked rather happy to see him. They directed him back to the room he had woken up in and got to work. He had to remove his shirt, and then they checked to make sure he was healing alright. Most of the bruising had already begun to heal, faster than normal, one of them had said.

At some point Solas had come in. “I’d like to examine the mark, if that’s alright with you.”

The Hunter shrugged and offered his hand, which sparked lightly. The alchemist came in just then, carrying a salve, which he set on the table, and then left without a word. It wasn’t until after they re-bandages his chest that they picked it up.

An apprentice approached. “Please turn, I need to put this on your burns.”

He turned, and Solas raised an eyebrow. “Burns?” 

The apprentice nodded. “They look old, but angry. Lady Nightingale is already looking into them.”

Solas let go of the Hunter’s hand. “So unusual?” He stood to see, and looked like he was about to say something before he stopped short. 

The Hunter knew what he was seeing. Four runes, branded onto the back of his neck, three in a semicircle. One for healing, one for blood bullets, one to give him endurance, and the fourth, final one to show his place as a Hunter of Hunters. 

Solas softly touched one. “What are these?” he asked softly, an unidentifiable emotion in his voice. 

“I don’t know. I cannot remember anything from before I woke up here as a prisoner.”

Solas looked a bit like he’d been punched in the stomach and sat back down, mark forgotten. 

The healer finished putting the salve over the brands and wrapped them, bowing before leaving. 

It was silent for a time, and then, “You remember nothing?”

“I know my name, and retain some physical memory, but nothing else.”

“What is your name?”

“Sukest.”

“No last name?”

“If I have one, I don’t remember it.” That was true enough. He’d never needed one. 

“Nothing about your clan?”

“I keep hearing that, that I have a clan. It’s a part of being Dalish?”

“It is, as are your Vallaslin.”

“My what?”

“Your Vallaslin. The markings on your face.”

“So every Dalish elf has them?”

“When they’re old enough.”

“You don’t have them. You aren’t Dalish?”

Solas looked like he’d eaten something sour. “No.”

“Have something against them?”

“We have our... disagreements?”

“Oh?” The Hunter stared expectantly.

Solas sighed. “You know I am a mage, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know what that means?”

“Kind of? Varric explained earlier. You draw magic from the fade? The other side of the Breach?”

“Yes. However, I also walk through the fade in my dreams.”

“Why? And how?”

“The fade is a place of dreams and memories. Battlegrounds, ruins of castles and forts, towers. Anywhere strong enough to withstand the test of time has a history. By walking through the fade, I can see that history, and learn from the spirits that dwell there.”

“Spirits? I thought the fade held demons.”

“Spirits are beings of emotions by nature, like courage, faith, or command. A demon is what a spirit becomes when its nature is twisted or denied, and they become creatures of sloth, lust, and pride.”

“Can the change be reversed?”

“In some cases.”

“Hmm.” The Hunter was quiet for a moment. “So, you and the Dalish?”

“The Dalish are very... set in their ways. They have stories and legends, of the way things used to be. Once, elves were an immortal people, to whom magic came as easily as breathing. They build an empire, Elvhenon, and its greatest city was Arlathon.”

“But it’s gone now?”

“It is. It fell, and the Dalish carry the scraps of what once was. They carry broken, twisted stories, events manipulated or altogether false. I have walked in the fade, seen these stories’ origins for myself. They do not like to be corrected on the little scraps of culture they hold so close.”

“So you dislike the way they cling to the past, unwilling to consider that past might be wrong?”

“Yes. We’ve crossed paths, and are not often hostile, but things are strained between us.”

“It’s impressive, that you can find things in the past in your dreams. A rare talent.”

Solas seemed thrown off by the change of topic, but picked up on it none the less. “It is a rarer practice. Not so flashy as throwing elements, but I would not trade the thrill of finding a thousand year old memory for anything.”

They sat in a comfortable silence for a few moments, before Solas stood. “It’s getting late. I’ll leave you to your rest. I imagine you have quite the day ahead of you tomorrow.”

The Hunter smiled. “It was nice to speak with you.”

“And you as well.”

Solas left, leaving him to sleep. The Hunter stood and stretched, chest aching, and had another vial. Chest numbed, he laid back down. Tomorrow would be busy, he should sleep while he still could. 

And the next day was busy indeed. He woke early, and started for the chantry. 

He arrived to the sound of distant arguing, which he could pick out pieces of as he approached. 

“... is not for you to decide. Your duty is to serve the chantry!” Chancellor Roderick again. 

“My duty is to serve the principles on which the chantry is founded, Chancellor. As is yours.” And Cassandra. 

He opened the door. The Chancellor, Cassandra, and Leliana stood around the table, with two guards posted by the door. 

The Chancellor pointed at him. “Chain him! I want him prepared to travel to the capital for trial.”

“Disregard that, and leave us.” The guards saluted Cassandra and left. 

“You walk a dangerous line, Seeker.”

“The Breach is stable, but it remains a threat. I will not ignore it.”

“I failed in sealing the Breach this time, but I am ready and willing to try again.”

Leliana turned from glaring at Roderick to stare at him. “You are still recovering from the last time you tried, and it almost killed you. We will try again, but you will recover first.”

The Hunter closed his eyes and tipped his head. “As you wish.”

Leliana had an unreadable expression on her face, but turned back to the chancellor. “Someone was behind the explosion at the Conclave. Someone Most Holy did not expect. Perhaps they died either the others, or have allies that yet live.

“I am a suspect?” He sounded so offended the Hunter almost laughed. 

“You, and many others.”

“But not the prisoner!”

Cassandra spoke up. “I heard the voices in the temple. The Divine called to him for help.”

“So his survival, that thing on his hand, it’s all a coincidence?!”

“Providence. The Maker sent him to us in our darkest hour.”

Wait, what? Is this what the people meant by ‘Herald of Andraste’? They thought he was divinely sent? He might not know how he got here, but he didn’t believe in gods. Insanely powerful beings, sure, but he didn’t believe that power granted divinity. “Do you really believe that? I thought you believed I did it,” he asked quietly, but honestly, not mockingly. He may not believe, but who was he to stop others?

“The Maker does as He wills. Perhaps I was wrong about you. I will not, however, pretend you were not exactly what we needed when we needed it.”

“The Breach remains, and your mark is our only hope of closing it.” Leliana crossed her arms. 

Cassandra slammed a large, ornate book on the table and put a finger on it, staring Roderick straight in the eye. “Do you know what this is, Chancellor?” She didn’t give him time to respond. This is a writ from the divine, granting is authority to act. As of this moment, I declare the inquisition reborn.”

She started walking, forcing Roderick to back up. “We will close the Breach, we will find those responsible, and we will restore order with or without your approval.”

Roderick left, walking a bit faster than usual. He didn’t look happy, but apparently wasn’t going to stay to argue. 

Leliana turned to him. “This is the Divine’s directive: Rebuild the inquisition of old. Find those who will stand against the chaos. We aren’t ready. We have no leaders, no numbers, and now no chantry support.”

Cassandra stepped towards them. “But we have no choice. We must act now, with you at our side.”

“What is the ‘Inquisition of Old, exactly?”

“It preceded the chantry. People who banded together to restore order in a world gone mad.”

“After, they laid down their banner and formed the Templar order. But the Templars have lost their way. We need those who can do what must be done united under a single banner once more.”

The Hunter smiled. “It sounds like a worthy cause. I will help you however I can.” He held out his hand to Cassandra, who also smiled and shook it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates might slow down a bit, but it’ll be at least once a week, if not twice. 
> 
> Also, please let me know if I get any Dragon Age lore wrong, I know the Bloodborne world much better. A lot of the Dalish and Dwarven stuff I’m not too sure on. 
> 
> Hope you liked it :D


	5. We’re going places now

The next few days were a whirlwind of activity. He was told to spend them healing, but whenever the healers weren’t fussing over him he would wander the camp or the nearby woods. 

He met the quartermaster early on, and then went the go properly thank the alchemist. The alchemist, a prickly but good man, had said he could repay him by putting the world back together. He found some notes while wandering, in a cabin outside the walls, in what looked like alchemy, and brought them in. The man had happily accepted. The Hunter now had a decent place to hide when workers or soldiers were just a bit too determined to approach and thank him. 

He met the blacksmith, Harrit, who had been fascinated by the Saif, saying he didn’t recognize the metal (siderite, the Hunter knew but didn’t say), and that the way it transformed was something he had never seen before.

He had allowed the man to study it, shown him how the mechanism worked. The gears were fine and complicated, set together in a way the man said was genius, and asked where the weapon had come from. The Hunter shared his (faked) amnesia, and Harrit said if he ever caught word of anything like it he’d let the Hunter know. 

The Healers said he was healing extremely quickly, and the bruises they’d expected to take weeks to fade were barely visible by the end of one. He knew it was the blood he was taking, but it had the healers in a panic. Eventually Solas heard the commotion and got involved, saying that it was likely an effect of the mark and promised to look into it. 

The alchemist told him if he took care not to be tossed around any time soon he was free to go, and to come back if his ribs were still troubling him. 

Solas had studied the mark for a while, which had thankfully stopped flashing so often, and hurt less when it did. It appeared as stable as the Breach, so for the most part he was left alone. 

The morning after he was cleared by the healers, he went up to the chantry and met Cassandra on the way in. They walked quietly towards the door at the end. 

“Does it trouble you? The mark?” Cassandra broke the silence.

“It’s alright. It’s much calmer now that the Breach is sealed.” He offered a small smile. 

“Solas has theorized that a second attempt could work if we put more power behind it. The amount of power used to open the Breach.”

“Sounds reasonable. What harm could come from channeling a large amount of power through something we don’t understand?”

She laughed. “Hold on to that sense of humor.”

They reached the door and entered the room. Leliana, Cullen, and Josephine were already there, a large map spread on the table between them. 

“There you are.” Leliana turned from the map. “We were about to send someone to go find you.”

He stepped up to the table and took a look at the map. It looked to be two country maps pushed together, and had two metal pieces one it. One near where the edges met, and one off to the side. He looked questioningly to Leliana. 

“We are planning our next move, and thought it best you were formally introduced. You’ve met them already, but this is Commander Cullen Rutherford (who smiled and waved), our general, and Lady Josephine Montilyet (who curtsied), our Ambassador. My name is Leliana, and my position here involves a matter of-“

Cassandra cut her off. “Leliana is our spymaster.”

“Yes. Tactfully put, Cassandra.”

Cullen looked at him. “And you’re the Herald.”

He winced slightly at the title. “I don’t know if the title means something other than what it sounds like, but I don’t think I’m any sort of prophet.”

“I’m sure the Chantry would agree.”

Josephine spoke next. “I don’t believe I caught your name.”

“Sukest.”

“No last name?”

“Not that I remember.”

She nodded. “We have people looking for where you may have come from. Few Dalish attended the Conclave. We’ll let you know as soon as we find anything.”

“Thank you.” He already knew it wouldn’t work, and felt a little bad for wasting her time. “So, what’s the plan? What are we doing next?”

“The Breach remains a threat, but one we have an idea on how to fix. If we recruit the rebel mages, we could use them to close the Breach,” Leliana explained. 

Cullen interjected, “I still don’t think that’s a good plan. We should recruit the Templars. They could suppress the Breach, weaken it, so that-“

Leliana cut him off. “Pure conjecture. We don’t know if that will work.”

“I used to be a templar. I know what they can -“

“Enough!” Cassandra silenced the room. 

After a few moments, Josephine spoke. “Right now, neither group will even speak to us. Our first order of business should be to expand our influence.”

“Do we have any ideas on how to do that?” the Hunter asked. 

Leliana broke off her staring contest with Cullen. “Yes. There is a Chantry Mother in the hinterlands, Mother Giselle. She asked to speak with you.”

“I thought the Chantry was against us?”

“Most of the council is, but not quite all of them. This one may be able to offer some insight.”

“If you think it’s worthwhile, I’ll go speak to her.” He paused. “Where are the hinterlands?”

Leliana laughed softly, and pointed to the off-center metal figure on the table. “Here. This one,” she pointed to the one in the center, “is where we are now. It’s a few days away on horseback. We already have a group preparing to travel.”

“All that way for one person’s advice?”

“Not quite.” Cullen rejoined the conversation. “There’s a man there by the name of Horsemaster Dennet. He can provide strong, sturdy mounts for the Inquisition. If you can, we ask that you speak with him.”

“There are also quite a few refugees in the area. I’m sure they would appreciate any help we could give them,” Josephine added. 

The Hunter nodded. “Understood.”

“Excellent.” Leliana smiled. “The group should be ready to set out in three days and you will be gone for about two weeks. Prepare however you see fit.”

The meeting was dismissed, and they all wandered from the room. 

The Hunter wasn’t entirely sure what went in to preparing a journey for a large group, and no one asked him to do anything beyond small chores, so he spend a large chunk of the time before departure in the woods just outside the gates.

He’d met a Templar named Lysette on one of these excursions, and spend a decent amount of time asking questions about Templar life. 

On the second day, when he went up to the chantry in the morning to make sure nobody needed him to do anything, he overheard Leliana assigning a scout to kill a former agent. 

“Try to make it quick. We were friends once.”

“Does he really have to die?” 

Leliana startled very slightly before she turned around to face him. “You have something to say on the matter?”

“It’s a terrible burden to bear, killing past friends.”

“What makes you say that?”

He paused. “I’m not sure.” Amnesia. Right. Did vague senses of duty carry on through that?

She raised an eyebrow, but didn’t press. “Very well. Perhaps I can find another way to deal with him.”

He spent more time with Varric and Solas as well, learning about the world, usually during mealtimes. They would sit in the tavern around a table, the Hunter asking questions and the two of them answering and filling in gaps. 

“So, Mages use lyrium to strengthen themselves? I thought you said it was bad?”

“The red stuff is.” Varric took a drink. “The normal stuff is blue. It’s dangerous in its raw form, but processed it can give mages a power boost.”

“How is the red any different?” 

“Normal lyrium has to be ingested to really do anything, but just being near the red stuff is enough. Makes you paranoid, start hearing voices. Then it starts doing creepy shit, making things float. It turned Kirkwall’s knight commander into a statue of the stuff.”

“A knight commander is a Templar leader, correct?”

“Yeah.”

“Earlier you said Templars also take lyrium?”

“They do. Gives them the abilities they use to suppress magic.”

“Isn’t that magic too though?”

“Eh. Kinda? It works different. Cullen would be the one to know, he used to be a Templar.”

Cullen didn’t have an answer. He didn’t have a lecture either, but he was cute enough that the Hunter would have listened to one. Reminded him a bit of Alfred. 

Cassandra, who was also down in the training area of the camp, was currently hacking apart a wooden training dummy. A force of nature, that woman. He was glad she was on his side. 

She didn’t have an answer either, but he did learn that Seekers didn’t take lyrium but could do the same things as Templars. 

He was going to ask Solas during their next conversation, but he got sidetracked when Solas asked to study his runes.

He had complied, and they went to where he’d been staying for the last few days. He sat still while Solas poked and sketched copies. 

“These markings are very strange. They exhibit an energy I have never felt before. I have walked to fade, asked spirits of wisdom for information, but they have known nothing. Leliana has sent word to her few contacts in Tevinter. She fears it may have been the work of some Magister.”

“Tevinter? That’s a country, right?”

“Yes. A country ruled by mages, where Templars do not suppress magic, and Circles are prestigious schools. Magisters, those in seats of power, rule the country. They keep slaves and practice blood magic. Leliana believes these runes may be a form of it.”

“Blood magic?”

“Yes. It’s a forbidden kind of magic, and pulls on blood and life force rather than the Fade. Even the Dalish look down upon it. Publicly, so do the Magisters, but it’s commonly known that they use it.”

The Hunter’s blood ran cold. Blood magic like his? The way he used blood to heal wounds, whether it be from a vial or from the fresh wounds of those he attacked, was likely forbidden here. That would mean he had to hide these abilities at all costs if he wanted to avoid trouble. 

Solas finished copying the last rune. “Leliana worries a Magister will appear, searching for his lost property. I do not think these markings are Tevinter in origin, but it does not hurt to be sure.”

The Hunter nodded. “Right.”

Solas gathered his things. “I will let you know if I find anything.”

“Thank you.” Solas smiled, then set off. 

Ah, well. What was one more secret, really? Demons didn’t bleed, at least not the ones he’d fought this far. Maybe it wouldn’t be too noticeable to people who weren’t looking for it. 

It was evening, and they set out for the hinterlands at dawn. He should sleep, to be ready for what awaited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y’all, what’s up? Weekly postings won’t be on the seventh day exactly all the time, but I will try to post at least once every seven days. Thanks for reading :D


	6. A little bit of Varric this time

It had been a hell of a week. A hole in the sky and an amnesiac elf who was trying to fix it. This rivaled the shit he’d gotten up to with Hawke.

Varric stood from his chair in the tavern and stretched. They were set to leave for the hinterlands in the morning, and he had no doubt that the seeker would be pushing to travel as quickly as possible. 

He wandered back towards his bed. Maybe the Herald’s, no, he’d said he hated that title. Maybe Sukest’s injuries would make her soften up. He might be up and moving around, but no one recovered from broken ribs in a week. 

He’d spent the last couple of days teaching the kid about the world, hoping something would jog his memory, but no luck so far. 

But then, maybe that was a good thing. He’d heard about the brands on the back of the kid’s neck. Nightingale was worried about blood magic or Tevinter. It was tempting to write to Hawke, include sketches of them. Last he’d heard Fenris was traveling with him, and if anyone was going to know something Nightingale didn’t about Tevinter brands, it would be him. 

He wouldn’t have time to write one between now and leaving in the morning, though. When he got back, he’d write to them. 

Things went surprisingly smoothly the next morning. The kid hadn’t pulled one of his disappearing acts like he did most days, but was waiting by the chantry, wearing the same clothes he’d shown up in. There had been a mask, he knew, but the kid wasn’t wearing it now. The whole thing together looked like a bird. Leliana had asked her contacts in the Crows, just in case, but they hadn’t given anything useful. 

The Seeker was already down at the gate, overseeing final preparations, and Solas joined them on their way there. 

When they arrived, the small group was ready to go. A few wagons of supplies, guarded by a group of soldiers. Some of the few horses they had were going on this trip, mostly to pull the wagons. 

They set off around mid-morning, three of them in the back of a wagon and the fourth on horseback outside. They rotated every so often so that no one had to spend all day on the horse, with the exception of Sukest, who was supposed to be resting. 

He wasn’t, of course, preferring to walk with the soldiers or dart off into the nearby woods when the stopped, but at least the route they picked stayed mostly peaceful. The kid fought like a nightmare, but recklessly. His weird curved sword that folded in half was sharp and hit hard, but he was left open between swings. The last thing he needed was to get whacked in the chest again. 

They arrived in the hinterlands a few days later, and were greeted by scout Harding. Cheerful, and she knew the area well. 

“Welcome to the hinterlands, Herald!”

The kid winced a little at the title, not that Varric could blame him. “Just Sukest is fine.”

Harding smiled. “Sukest, then.”

“How are things here?”

“Not great. The Mages and Templars are fighting, and destroying everything in their path. The people here have been forced out of their homes. We had refugees staying at the crossroads north of here, but they’ve been driven out of there too. Horsemaster Dennet lives to the west, but nobody’s been able to establish contact with him yet.”

“Alright. Thank you.”

They’d set off north almost immediately, leaving most of the soldiers to unload the wagons. The crossroads were close, and they could hear the fighting almost immediately. 

A group of Mages fighting a group of Templars, less than a dozen in total, but still enough to cause a problem for them. The kid, of course, didn’t seem to care, and charged forwards immediately. 

He’d never seen the kid fight people, only demons. Immediately, he folded his weapon and dashed forwards, directly behind the nearest fighter, some poor Templar, and shoved the edge of the blade between the gap between the helmet and the rest of the armor. The Templar fell immediately, and the kid darted for the next person. 

The rest of the group kicked into action, Solas shielding them and Cassandra distracting the heavy hitters while he sniped from afar, aiming for the Mages and less protected Templars. 

Upon reaching a group of Mages, Sukest unfolded his weapon and damn near cut one in half with one swing. Having had a few seconds to react, most of the Templars scrambled back from him, almost falling on Cassandra’s sword in their haste. Some Mages managed to warp back a bit, but a few tried to stand their ground to cast something. It failed when Sukest charged into the middle of them, cutting them down in a matter of moments with wide, powerful swings. 

It hadn’t been as apparent when he was fighting demons, but his fighting style was as messy as it was reckless. He’d killed a half-dozen men in three minutes, sure, but he was covered in enough blood for it to have been twice that. Now he knew why the bird outfit was black. Any other color would have been stained a long time ago. 

The fight was over extremely quickly, Sukest chasing the last Templar when he tried to run. He’d ducked out of sight for a moment, but came back quickly. Solas immediately rushed to heal him, but was brushed off.

“I didn’t get hurt.”

“You’re covered in blood!”

“None of it’s mine.”

They did get him to sit down for a moment in the end. Solas healer the few small scratches he and Cassandra had gotten. True to his word, the kid was uninjured. He was warned (sternly, by Cassandra) not to be so reckless. Stay with the group, don’t go charging ahead. Varric thought he might argue, but he didn’t. 

They went back to Harding and reported the crossroads clear. Over the course of the day, refugees trickled back in, and the soldiers helped them settle in while guarding the perimeter. 

The kid vanished for a bit, but didn’t go too far. Varric could see him go by every once in a while, talking to refugees and doing what he could to comfort them. He wasn’t the most social person, but he really did want to help. 

He spent the rest of the day talking with the scouts and going over their reports. Four confirmed reports of rifts so far, and a fortress to the southeast they hadn’t gotten into yet. 

The next day, they went after the rifts. There was one just north of the crossroads, and one a fit further to the southeast. The northern one was closer, so they went there first. There were demons, but nothing special. The four of them handled it with relative ease and started south. 

That rift wasn’t too bad either, but was slightly more difficult. Sukest discovered that a limb cut off a demon vanished immediately when one got too close to Solas, and Solas discovered that the thing he fought with (a Saif, he’d called it) was heavier than he’d thought judging by the force behind the swing. 

They went a bit further, then found a nice spot to make camp. The scouts in the area agreed, and sent word back to the crossroads about it. It was only mid-afternoon, so they went further south, to that fortress the scouts had written about. 

The gate was closed, the fortress occupied by a religious group determined to remain silent (with the exception of one woman) until they got a sign from the Maker. The kid offered to close the rift in their basement, which was good enough for them.

He asked them to help the refugees in return, which they agreed to, and then he slipped off while Solas was healing Cassandra (a demon got a lucky hit in), and didn’t reappear for another hour. When he did, however, he had a man with him offering the men who worked for him for the causes of the Inquisition. 

Having closed three rifts that day, they decided to stop for the evening and returned to the camp, which was set up enough to use already. 

By noon the next day, they had the other two rifts closed, and spent a large chunk of time searching for apostate supply caches, which Sukest had apparently heard about from a soldier back at the crossroads. Blankets for the freezing refugees, he’d said. It seemed like a worthy enough cause to spend a couple hours on it. 

They trekked back to the crossroads, where Sukest gave his marked map of caches to a soldier, and vanished among the refugees again. Cassandra went to bed early, recovering from where she’d taken a Templar sword to the helmet (she was alright, it just gave her a ringing headache) on the way back north. 

Varric sat close to the fire, next to Solas, drink in hand. “Some fighter, isn’t he?”

“I take it you refer to Sukest? He is, yes. I’ve never seen anyone fight like that before.”

“Neither have I.” He lowered his voice. “I thought Nightingale was being paranoid, but those marks of his might actually be some kind of blood magic.”

“If they are, it’s a kind I have never seen before.”

“Still no leads on where he might have gotten them?”

“No.” He didn’t look happy about it. 

The rest of the evening passed uneventfully, the kid slipping back into camp eventually. Varric had to drag him over to get something to eat (he forgot to, sometimes), and the three of them chatted for a while before they all went to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Different POV to change things up a bit, show how things are looking on the inquisition side. Chapter's kinda short, next one should be up faster, sorry about that. Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed :D


	7. The Hinterlands but from the Hunter's view this time

It had taken several days to get to the hinterlands, but the trip had gone rather smoothly. The Hunter was told to stay in the wagon and recover, but that had gotten boring in the first few hours. He took to wandering among the soldiers, scouting around. The trip was peaceful, and it set him on edge. It was too calm. Nothing more threatening than the bear they’d seen on the third day, and that was only from a distance. They’d just left it alone when it left them alone. 

By the time they finally got there the Hunter was ready to go and do something, so when Harding said something about clearing out a crossroads north of their camp he’d jumped at the proposal. In hindsight, he had been a bit reckless during the fight, but any wounds he’d gotten were healed before his companions could notice them. 

They’d spent the rest of the day helping refugees settle in, which was much better than sitting around the camp (like he was supposed to). He got to know a few and went to see if there was any way he could help. He was directed to Corporal Vale, who pointed towards a soldier who was looking for a solution to the freezing refugees and a hunter (one who hunted for food, not like him) who was trying to solve the food shortage problem. 

The soldier didn’t have blankets, but he figured the apostates did. The ones he’d fought earlier had looked much healthier than the refugees, so there was a decent chance the man was right. 

He went and found the hunter that evening, and learned that there was food to be had, it was just too dangerous to go hunt for it. 

That night, he slipped out of the camp. The guards did their jobs well, but he was a Hunter who had a few blue elixers. Once he was out, he went east a bit, to where the man said there would likely be rams. He pulled out the bow blade that Simon had left him (when he died, which the Hunter tried not to think about). It was quieter than his Evelyn, which he hadn’t used yet. He hadn’t seen a single gun here, so he figured he should save it for an emergency. 

It was easy for him to walk silently through the woods. He had hunted for food like this when he was younger, before he got sick and became a Yharnam Hunter. The cold of the forest was something he was used to dealing with. 

The rams were everywhere, like the man had said. The only complication was when he nearly tripped over the corpse of a woman in the woods. She clutched a letter to her chest, and had clearly been here for several days. He picked the letter up and read it (a love letter, she was meeting up with her lover in a fortress just south of where she was), before pocketing it. Maybe he could find the center. 

It took him a few trips to get them all back to the crossroads, but the man was so happy to see them the trouble was nothing. 

He was on his way back to camp when he heard someone coughing (roughly, in a way that suggested fluid in the lungs) and went to investigate. He found a man trying to soothe his wife, who couldn’t seem to catch her breath.

He sat with them for awhile, spoke calmly. The man explained his wife often had a bad cough this time of year, but it hadn’t happened recently. His son could make a potion to soothe it, but he’d run off to join some group holed up in a fortress. How convenient. Now the Hunter had two reasons to find it. 

It was nearly dawn, so he slipped easily back to camp. The quartermaster saw him by the fire and brought him food. “An early breakfast, good way to start the day,” she’d said. 

Harding was up soon enough, and they had a nice conversation on the area. She shared some rift reports, and when he asked she told him what she knew of that fortress. Not a lot, but it was better than what he’d had before. 

His companions were up before long, and they went to go deal with the rifts that day. They started up north, then went south. They found a good spot, somewhere nicely defensible where soldiers could hold a camp, and then went further south. 

The found that fortress, and he closed a rift in their basement. They saw him as some kind of sign from their god, which he didn’t like, but didn’t argue. He got them to agree to help the refugees, then set off to explore. He found the man the letter was addressed to first. He was distressed upon hearing the woman was dead, but upon realizing he had no further reason to be here, offered himself and his men to the Inquisition. 

He found the couple’s son, and got the potion his mother needed, along with the recipe for it, before he and his group headed back to that campsite for the night. 

He didn’t wander this time, but he did overhear soldiers discussing a potential apostate camp to the north. They also said something about a templar encampment to the west. It would be something to look into. 

He slept that night, and the group went to close two more rifts the next morning. They were done by the afternoon, so he told them about the freezing refugees and suspected supply caches, and they went on the hunt for those. They found a good number before hiking back up to the crossroads. The soldier looked happy to see the map and supplies marked, and went with several other soldiers to start retrieving them. 

Mother Giselle had arrived at the crossroads, and he went to go find her. 

He found her soothing a wounded soldier.

“Mother Giselle?”

She turned to him. “And you must be the Herald of Andraste.”

He winced. “Depending on who you ask.”

“You do not enjoy the title, I take it?”

“I don’t even know who Andraste is. Amnesia and all that.” He muttered the last part quietly. 

She raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Ah.”

“I was told you wanted to speak to me?”

“Yes. The chantry remains a threat to you. I advise you go and speak to them.”

“Appeal to them? Will that work?”

“Let me put it like this. You do not need to convince them all, you only need a few to doubt. Their unified front is their strength. If you can rid them of that, the rest will be greatly weakened.”

He thought for a moment. “That makes sense, I guess.”

She gave him a gentle smile. “I will travel to Haven to speak with the rest of your team.”

He nodded. “Thank you.”

He made his way back up to the camp. It was getting late, he should make an appearance before someone came to look for him. 

He got back to see Varric (who he had been sharing a tent with) sitting by the fire next to Solas. Varric immediately waved him over, then got a scout to bring him food. Cassandra had already gone to bed, and after they had chatted for a while, night had fallen and they turned in. 

Well, Solas and Varric went to sleep. The Hunter pretended to, then slipped out once Varric had fallen asleep. 

He’d heard about rebel bases in the area. Supposedly the Mages were up north, and the Templars to the west. He started north, moving quickly. He only had a couple hours before someone would realize he was gone. 

The woods were foggy, but not nearly as bad as the one he was used to. It also had fewer snakes, which was a plus. It took a bit of wandering, but eventually he found a wooden symbol strung up in a tree. There were quite a few, now that he knew what he was looking for, and eventually he found where the ground was covered with large spikes of ice. 

He moved forwards slowly, carefully, and saw a few mages and mercenaries standing guard. This must be it, then. It looked like there was a cave further back. Easily defensible, and it would keep the worst of the weather out. Satisfied he knew where it was, he retraced his steps back to the crossroads, and then up to the camp. 

He still had a few hours, and he planned to go out again the next night, so he slipped back into his tent and went to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading :D Let me know if you enjoyed


	8. Well, things could have gone worse

The next morning, the Hunter told the others about his chat with Mother Giselle. 

“An appeal?” Varric raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, I guess that could work. She say anything else?”

“That their unified front is their strength. If we can break it they’ll be severely weakened.”

They sent a bird back to Haven, to let the others know the news, and that Mother Giselle was on her way. 

They had the rest of the day to recover, tend to their equipment, and so on. 

He spent most of it with the refugees. He went out and shot a few more rams to bring back. This time, after his first trip back, a few others went with him to get the rest, and what he’d expected to take an hour only took half of one.

He decided to set out west a bit early. As long as he didn’t draw too much attention to himself, nobody should mind. 

He went west along the path until he hit a broken bridge, and was debating how to get across when he heard the sounds of heavy armor nearby and slid down the bank into the river, partially hiding under the remains of the bridge.

Carefully looking around, he saw several Templars standing in the shade of a tree. The armor he’d heard belonged to another group, who were walking down a path that ran along a cliff face, which led up along the side, above the river. 

The Templars coming down the hill spoke briefly to the ones at the bottom, who went back up. The new Templars resumed the same position the others had held. 

It couldn’t be this easy, could it? He couldn’t see past where the path turned a corner, but he was willing to bet this was the Templar encampment. And it was only just after noon. So much for that distraction. 

He went back to camp and entered the tent he shared with Varric, who was out by the fire, chatting with some of the scouts. The best thing to do now would be to rest up for tonight. 

He wasn’t at all tired, so he grabbed a sedative from the dream. The things were meant to simply calm the drinkers, but they’d always made him dead tired as a side effect. A useful side effect, for once. 

He drank it and laid down. He had a lot to do that night, and would need as much rest as he could get. 

He woke during the night, Varric already asleep across from him. Quietly, he stood and exited the tent. The scouts and soldiers were still winding down, which meant the night was still young. Perfect. 

He slipped out of the camp and started north, back to where he’d found the apostates. When he got there, Mages and mercenaries were still standing guard.

Carefully, he slipped around the outskirts, trying to see as much as he could before he started. He hadn’t seen a lamp since leaving Haven, so if he died here he’d have a lot of questions to answer. 

He spent another half hour making a plan of attack and was about to start on it when he saw the glint of armor in the woods nearby. 

A Templar? Were they attacking? It would be extraordinarily convenient if the Templars decided to take down the camp at the same time he did. He could just stand back and clean up the remnants once the fight was over. 

No, wait. There was only one figure, and the armor had a different silhouette. He slid a little closer, quietly moving between the trees for a better look, and… was that Cassandra?

It was. What was she doing out here? She seemed to be scanning the woods, and upon spotting him, made eye contact. She didn’t look surprised to see him. She looked rather annoyed, actually. Shit, had she seen him leave?

He slipped over to her. She looked like she was about to reprimand him before he put a finger over his lip and pointed to the guards. 

“Is this where you’ve been sneaking off to?!” she hissed under her breath, eyes narrowed. 

“The plan was to take them quietly. What are you doing here?”

“I saw you slip out last night, and then again tonight. I followed to see where you were going.”

Shit. He’d thought she was asleep. He was about to respond when an arrow cut the air between them and lodged itself in a tree. They both looked to see where it had come from. 

The guards had noticed. Lovely. He drew his Saif. Cassandra drew her sword. “You will explain this back at camp.” From her glare, he didn’t doubt it. He nodded charged for the closest mercenary. 

For a while, the fight went surprisingly well. The guards went down in minutes, the ruckus drawing attention from within. However, there were a few more mages than the Hunter had accounted for. Cassandra was working steadily through her potion supply, and he only had a half dozen vials left. He dashed forwards to cut the head off of another mage. 

Cassandra slammed her shield into a mercenary’s chest, then turned and swung her sword at another. “This isn’t working!” she called over.

He dashed up and slid his sword through the back of the dazed swordsman. “Do you have a backup plan?”

She downed another potion and threw down the bottle. “I’m out.” 

Then she sighed, looking resigned, and stepped back. “Cover me for a moment.” He nodded and took out another mercenary. 

Now it was just two left, and four mages. He struck forwards at one of the approaching swordsmen when he felt it. A wave of power from where Cassandra was standing. It didn’t seem to affect the mercenaries, but it did affect the Mages. 

Immediately, the spell two of them were preparing dropped, and one of them fell to their knees. It left them stumbling and breathless. For a moment he paused, unsure of what happened, but he had bigger things to worry about. He leapt forwards, slashed the swordsman in the throat, then jumped on the retreating back of the last one before starting for the Mages. They fell easily, hardly fighting back, not using any magic at all. 

He stood for a moment in the carnage before he heard the clink of metal behind him. Cassandra had fallen to her knees, and was trying to catch her breath. 

“What was that?”

“Do you remember when I said Seekers sometimes possessed powers that Templars do not?”

“Yes.”

“That was one of them. I have the power to set the lyrium in one’s blood aflame. A rare ability, I am told.”

Huh. Good to know, that she could take down Mages en masse. “Are you alright?”

She sighed irritably before she stood. “Tired, but I’ll live. Now, we’re going back to the camp, and when we get there, you’re going to explain what you were thinking when you decided to try to do this alone in the dead of night.”

If glares could kill he would be back in Haven right now. He lowered his head (and his ears went back, he needed to find a way to stop that, damn).

Cassandra was, evidently, exhausted from using this power of hers, and had taken a fair few hits during the fight. It took them until mid-morning to limp back to the crossroads, and then they started up the path to the camp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Could have gone worse, could have gone better :3 Thanks for reading!


	9. Someone’s in trouble~

Varric woke up to the sound of the camp in chaos. He looked over to find that Sukest was gone, probably went out to see what was going on. He stumbled from his tent, bleary-eyed and half asleep. 

Solas was out by the remains of last night’s fire with Scout Harding. The kid was nowhere in sight. He jogged over to them. “What’s going on?”

“We received word back from Haven. Someone went to deliver the message and found the Herald missing.” Oh. Shit. Well. 

“He goes out all the time. I’m sure he’ll be back in an hour or so.”

“I thought so too. That was three hours ago.”

Well, so much for that. “Where’s the Seeker?”

“Also missing.” That was more worrying. Sukest vanishing for a couple hours could be explained, but the Seeker?

“We’ve sent out scouts to search the area, but we don’t know how long they’ve been gone. If anyone saw something, they haven’t said anything.” Harding looked uncharacteristically worried. 

Varric pressed his hands to his eyes and was trying to think of something to say when there was a commotion on the path up to the camp. 

The three of them went over to investigate. On the upside, they’d found the missing duo. On the downside, they didn’t look too good. Cassandra was leaning heavily on Sukest, who was carrying her shield. Sukest was walking with a limp and looked actually tired for the first time since they’d met. 

The remaining scouts in the camp immediately rushed forwards to help. They got the two seated in the shade and started looking for any serious injuries while a few others started gathering what healing supplies they had. 

Sukest looked like he was trying to brush off the help, about to insist he was fine when the Seeker gave him one of the most withering glares he’d ever seen, and he allowed them to check him for injuries. 

Once the rush of worried soldiers died down, he approached. “So, what happened here? Late night stroll turned deadly?”

“Our friend here,” Cassandra gestured to Sukest, who looked like he wanted to sink into the ground, never to be seen again, “found out where the apostates made a base camp.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t that a good thing?”

“It could have been, if he decided to tell us, not sneak out at night to try to handle it himself.”

Solas dropped the stream of healing magic he’d had directed at Cassandra to stare at the kid. 

Oh boy. “Uh, any input there?”

The kid looked like he’d rather be anywhere but here. “It… could have worked? There weren’t a whole lot of them.”

“There were more than you thought.” Cassandra looked well and truly exhausted. Must have been, she wasn’t even yelling. 

“So, uh, how many times have you snuck out while we were here? You don’t find and attack a place like that in one night.” Well, he hoped not. 

Sukest was stubbornly avoiding eye contact. “First night, to help the refugees, second to scout around once we moved south. Slept while we were there. Once we got back here I went out once to find the camp, then came back and slept, then went out to try to take it.”

Well. No wonder there were permanent bags under his eyes. 

“Anything else?” Solas asked sharply. 

“I found what I think might be the Templar camp to the west, but that was during the day.”

Solas sighed and sat back. “Thankfully, neither of you are seriously injured. We received word from Haven while you were gone. We are to remain here for three more days, and two of you are going to spend at least this one resting. Am I clear?”

Sukest nodded. 

“Cassandra?”

Cassandra had passed out against the tree she was leaning on.

Solas swore and called his healing magic back to his hands. 

“She, um, used a seeker power while we were there. That’s what exhausted her,” the kid mumbled. 

Solas confirmed that she had only fallen asleep. Well, it was good to know she wasn’t about to die or anything. Now, a way to change the subject. 

“So, you said you found the Templar camp?”

“I think so. A small path along a cliff by the river with the broken bridge, just west of the crossroads. There were Templars standing just inside, not easily visible from the road. After not too long, a second group came and swapped with them. Looked like a change of watch.”

“I’ll have a group of scouts look into it. If it is the camp, taking it out now could spare us a lot of trouble.” 

Solas sighed. “In the meantime, the two of you,” he gestured to Sukest and the already asleep Cassandra, “are going to rest. Not leave to go help the refugees, or to go ‘explore’, but actually rest.”

“Understood.” The kid’s eyes were downcast.

“But hey, you did a good job finding the place, and it’s fantastic that you managed to clear out the other camp. Just let us help out next time, yeah?”

“Of course.” He was uncharacteristically quiet. 

Solas finished checking for injuries, healing up small cuts and scrapes, before sending the kid off to sleep. They also managed to get Cassandra up long enough to get her into a tent, instead of just leaving her to sleep against a tree. 

Varric went to go check on the kid. He was asleep, but still wearing all his armor, and his weapon was loosely clasped in his hand. 

He frowned. Come to think of it, aside from the early days of his healing, he’d never seen the kid take off his armor. He would’ve kicked himself for not noticing sooner, but then, the kid apparently hadn’t been around for him to notice. He went back out to talk to Solas. 

“So, any luck in your dream hunting for anything linked to the kid?”

“No. I’ve found nothing relating to the brands on his neck, his armor, or the way he fights.” He looked upset. Annoyed?

“Ya’know, the only thing Dalish about him is his tattoo.”

“Oh? Have you met many Dalish?”

“A few. Some on better terms than others, but he doesn’t act like any of them. For one, he wears shoes, and two, I don’t think he speaks elvish.”

“He has lost his memory. Perhaps he lost his knowledge of the language as well.”

“He understands this one just fine though. If he were Dalish, doesn’t it seem more likely he’d remember his first language instead of this one?”

“Hmm.” Solas was quiet for a moment. “You may have a point. But still, he has his Vallaslin. Leliana believes he may have been in Tevinter before he was here.”

“That would explain his thing, I guess.”

“His… ‘thing’?”

“His whole ‘this is my job, I’m going to do it and you can’t stop me at all’ thing. He sleeps in his armor and has his weapon in reach. I don’t think he even took his shoes off.”

Solas’ brow furrowed. “He didn’t sleep in his armor back at Haven.”

“No, but he wasn’t supposed to be fighting anything there. He’s been told that this place,” he gestured around at the forest, “is dangerous. He’s done almost nothing but fight since we’ve gotten here.”

Now Solas looked concerned. “I would think that kind of behavior would be more common out of Tevinter. The Herald was clearly cared for, wherever he came from. He looks like a normal, well, normal enough person when he’s relaxed, but as soon as there’s danger or perceived danger, he changes entirely.”

“You, uh… you don’t think he’s from under the Qun, do you.”

“I…” He was quiet for a moment. “The pieces do seem to fit, don’t they.”

“So, should we tell somebody or…?”

“I will discuss this with Leliana when we return to Haven. She said she would look wherever she could, but I imagine contacts under the Qun aren’t easy to come by.”

He sighed. “I can understand why.”

The rest of the day went by without incident. By mid morning the next day the kid was getting twitchy just sitting around camp, so Varric went with him down to the crossroads. 

Half the people there seemed to be on a first name basis with him, and he was more than happy to sit and listen to them when they spoke of where they’d come from, or when they described missing friends and relatives. 

It didn’t really seem like Qun behavior, but it didn’t seem like the behavior of someone who used to be a slave in Tevinter, either. Maybe he really was Dalish, and there was nothing to worry about. 

They got back to camp mid-afternoon. Cassandra had emerged from her tent while they were gone, and was working on cleaning her armor. Solas was off to the side, speaking with Scout Harding, but when he saw them he approached. 

“Our scouts have confirmed that the place you found yesterday was indeed the Templar camp.”

Sukest perked up. “Is there any plan to clear it yet?”

“That is what we were discussing. If the two of you,” he gestured to both Sukest and Cassandra, “are sufficiently recovered, the four of us might go take care of it.”

Sukest looked ecstatic. Maybe being cooped up was harder on the kid that he’d thought. 

The rest of the afternoon, and then evening, went quietly. Despite having slept most of the day, Cassandra was asleep earlier than usual. Solas went not long after, and then Sukest. He saw the kid take a potion (red bottle, probably a healing potion. Was he injured yesterday after all?), and then pass out, armored as usual. 

They set out early the next morning, hoping to catch the Templars off guard. Sukest led the way, and they were there surprisingly quickly. It had been this close all along?

The camp itself went down flawlessly. The two rogues slid in from behind while Solas and Cassandra drew the Templars forwards. Half of them were down before they knew what was happening. 

He didn’t know how the kid hadn’t stained his armor red yet. He was efficient, but did he really need to send blood everywhere? Just because he apparently had magic stain remover didn’t mean everyone else did. Well, Solas might. He’d have to ask later. 

They were back in the camp before noon. Sukest vanished for about an hour, and Varric was just starting to worry when he reappeared, noticeably cleaner, if soaking wet. Did he manage to get all that blood off in the river? Damn, that was actually impressive. He’d have to keep in mind the kid could do that. 

The rest of the afternoon was spent preparing for the trip back to Haven, and they set off the next morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit later than normal, sorry about that. Hope y’all enjoyed!
> 
> Also, I’ve got a discord now, in case you’ve got questions, ideas, or just wanna chat. 
> 
> https://discord.gg/Zu7Qn3y


	10. Finally something happens

It was late at night a few days later when they finally got back. They’d been delayed a bit by the snow, but luckily only by a day or two. Anyone who didn’t need to be out to help settle the new supplies immediately went to find somewhere warm. 

The Hunter immediately went to his room and lit the fireplace. He’d skipped a night of sleep to help move snow and debris from the paths, which was fine, he just needed a moment to catch his breath. 

He’d only meant to take a half-hour or so to thaw out by the fire before going back out to help, but he must have nodded off, because the next thing he new it was mid-morning the next day, the sun well over the horizon. 

He immediately got up, threw his outer layers back on (they’d been soaked and half frozen the night before, he’d laid them out by the fire), and went straight to the chantry. Everyone else was already there when he half-stumbled into the war room. 

Cullen looked up from the map spread on the table and grinned. “He lives! We were about to send someone to make sure.”

He chuckled nervously. “Sorry about that, must have been a bit more worn out from the trip than I thought.”

“Think nothing of it.” Josephine, who had been arranging a set of papers, looked up and smiled at him. “Most of us have only been here for a few minutes.”

“So, speaking of your trip, how was it?” Leliana asked. 

“It went well. We found Mother Giselle and helped the refugees where we could. I’m afraid we failed to establish contact with the Horsemaster, though.” And that had been one of the main points of the trip. He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. 

“We received a report from our scouts this morning says that they’ve gotten through to the area and are helping the people who were stranded there by the fighting.”

Well, that was a weight off his shoulders. They hadn’t lost any of their horses on the trip, but they still needed more.

“I’ve heard a large part of their progress is thanks to you.” Cullen was looking at him. “Apparently you located the base camps of both the apostates and the rogue Templars?”

“I had plenty of help. The scouts the ones to find the Templars, really.” He wasn’t going to blush. He wasn’t, damnit. 

“It says you also…” Josephine looked up incredulously from the paper she was reading. “You took out the apostate camp on your own?”

“Cassandra helped. Couldn’t have done it without her.” She wasn’t in the room. Hopefully they hadn’t heard her side of the story. Nobody called him out on it, so he assumed they hadn’t. 

Leliana raised an eyebrow, but didn’t question him. “You said you spoke with Mother Giselle, yes?”

“Yes. She said we should try to speak with the clerics, try to break up their unified front against us. I don’t know much about how the Chantry system works, but does this sound plausible?”

Josephine spoke up after a moment. “It could work. We could sent a group to address the clerics in Val Royeaux. It would benefit us greatly if we could get even a few of them on our side.”

“Perhaps a message straight from the Herald?” Leliana turned to the man in question. “How are you with public speaking?”

“I’m not entirely certain. I could give it a try if you like, though.”

“You can’t be serious?” Cullen looked between them. “Send out the Herald where the people want to put him on trial?”

The Hunter laughed. “Aww, you’re worried. I’ll be fine though.”

Cullen turned bright red and looked like he wanted to sink into his coat. 

Cassandra walked into the room, and Cullen immediately looked to her. “It’s a security risk to send the Herald to Val Royeaux for a speech. You agree, don’t you?” 

“If it’s security you’re worried about, I will accompany him into the city myself.”

Leliana grinned. “So it’s settled, then?”

Cullen sighed, still slightly pink. “I suppose.”

“Good.” She turned to the Hunter. “We can send you out as early as tomorrow morning.”

He nodded, and the meeting was dismissed. He didn’t have much time, but he wanted to check in with the people he knew here. 

The craftsman, Harrit, seemed happy to see him. He was working on a copy of the folding mechanism from the Saif, and wanted another look at it. The Hunter left it with him and went to go say hello to the alchemist. 

The alchemist was pleased to see him, and asked him to run a list of supplies over to the quartermaster. He did, then went to recollect his Saif and get ready to travel again the next day. 

They set off early the next morning. It didn’t take as long to get to to Val Royeaux as it did the hinterlands. The distance couldn’t have been too different, but the roads on this side of the mountain seemed to be in better repair. 

The city was bright, colorful, and full of life. The Hunter was almost overwhelmed as soon as the group walked in. They were expected, a scout outside the city told them, and people immediately moved out of their way as they walked towards the city square. 

The clerics had set up a small stage in front of the gathered crowd, and there was a decently-sized group of Templars, which the scout had also warned them about.

The priestess in front spoke loudly as they approached. “Good people of Val Royeaux, hear me! Together, we mourn our Divine. Her naive and beautiful heart, silenced by treachery! You wonder what will become of her murderer. Well, wonder no more. Behold, the so-called Herald of Andraste, claiming to rise where our beloved fell! We say this is a false prophet! The maker would send no elf in our hour of need!

There were a whole lot of people here. Maybe this was a bad idea. Too late now. “I’ve never claimed to be any kind of religious figure. I just want to close the Breach!”

Cassandra spoke up beside him. “It’s true! The Inquisition seeks only to end this madness before it is too late!”

“It is already too late!” She pointed off to the side, and a group of Templars started up the stage. “The Templars have returned to the chantry! They will face this ‘Inquisition’, and the people will be safe once more!”

The first Templar walked right past her, and the second stopped only to strike her solidly on the side of the head. She fell to the ground immediately. 

The Hunter half turned to Cassandra, who was close behind him. “I thought the Templars and Chantry worked together?” 

“They do.” She looked confused and angry about the turn of events, and started mov big through the crowd. 

“Still yourself,” the first Templar said to another, who had already been on the stage and looked as confused as the Hunter felt. “She is beneath us.”

The Hunter, who had to leave his Saif with the rest of their supplies in order to ‘look less scary’, was starting to regret agreeing to do so as he followed. “So, this isn’t normal?”

“No.”

A second Templar rushed up, leading a small group. He looked like he was about to question the first one. “Still yourself!” the first one commanded. “She is beneath us.”

“So…” the Hunter called up, “if you’re not here to help them, why are you here?”

“To see what all the fuss was about, see who had a bunch of chantry clerics shaking in their boots. We’ve done that.” The man turned to his(?) men. “Come! This city is no longer worthy of our protection.” 

They began to leave the square. Cassandra rushed up towards the leader(?). “Lord Seeker Lucius, it is imperative that we speak with-”

“You will not address me.” The man did not stop. 

Cassandra paused. “Lord Seeker?”

“Creating a heretical movement, raising up a puppet as Andraste’s prophet. You should be ashamed. You should all be ashamed! The Templars failed no one when they left the chantry to purge the Mages! You are the ones who have failed! You who’d leash our righteous swords with doubt and fear! If you came to appeal to the chantry, you are too late. The only destiny here that demands respect is mine!”

He then looked directly at the Hunter. “And you! A Hunter, pretending to be a prophet? How dare you turn your back on the ones who have saved you! If you’ve any sense of honor or loyalty, you’ll return to where you belong. You might even be allowed to live!”

Anything the Hunter had been about to say died in his throat, and his blood ran cold. What? Helped? Where he belonged? Then he saw it. Around the man’s neck, a badge. A sword hunter badge?No, brighter. A Radiant sword hunter badge. Here? How, and why? Were there hunters here after all?

If the man noticed his confusion, he didn’t say anything. He turned back to his men. “Templars! Val Royeaux is unworthy of our protection! We march!” They filed out of the square, the gathered crowd quickly parting and then dispersing at once. 

“Has Lord Seeker Lucius gone mad?” Cassandra sounded like she was asking herself more than any of them. The other two members of their party approached from where they’d been waiting at the edge of the crowd. 

“So, I guess we’re not getting help from the Templars?” Varric adjusted the strap on his crossbow. 

Cassandra sputtered a bit, said that this was highly unusual for the Lord Seeker, and that something must be wrong, but the Hunter hardly heard her. How did this man know? Where did he get that badge?

He was so lost in thought he didn’t notice Solas trying to get his attention until the third attempt, and he startled. “Hmm?”

“Did you recognize that man?”

“I… no. I didn’t.”

“Well, he seemed to recognize you. Or, well, something about you. A hunter, he called you? And something about you owing him?” Varric looked unusually tense. 

At least he didn’t have to fake his confusion. “Yeah. He did. I don’t-” He could hardly string words together. A radiant sword hunter. They were under Ludwig, he knew (but he didn’t know how he knew, which wasn’t helping), but the last time he saw Ludwig he’d been some kind of deformed horse, and then he was dead. 

“-est? Sukest!” 

He snapped to attention. Varric has moved closer, and all three of them looked concerned. “Hey. We should move. We’ve already got reservations, but we should get to our lodgings. We can think about this there.”

But wait, they’d had a reason to be there. “Oh, but the clerics.”

He made his way back over to the stage. Most of the crowd had dissolved by now. 

The one who was attacked was still on the ground, but was now surrounded by the other clerics. 

She looked up as he approached. “The Herald. Come to laugh at an old woman?”

“No. No, I haven’t. I just want to help.”

It seemed for a moment like she was going to refute him, but then actually thought about what he said. She was silent for a moment. “Tell me. Do you actually believe you were sent by Andraste?”

“No. No, I don’t. I don’t think I’m holy at all.”

“That is… more comforting than you know. Thank you.” It was a clear, but polite dismissal, and he took it thankfully. 

The others had caught up as he walked away. “Well, I don’t think they’re after my head anymore.”

They still looked concerned, but Varric sighed. “Well, at least something good came out of this, then. Should we head to our lodgings for the night, get settled in early?” It was hardly noon, but no one had any objections. 

It took almost no time at all to find the place, and he must have looked as antsy as he felt, because Varric handed him a pouch of coins and said he could wander the city if he stayed out of trouble. 

He detached the feathery cape from his outfit, along with a few of the more dramatic flairs. In the end he still looked strange, but he wouldn’t stand out across the street as he did in his usual attire. 

The Templars had left, taking all their men. Catching up with this Lord Seeker would be near impossible, but he probably shouldn’t leave the city right now anyways. Best to find something else to think about. He set out into the city, determined to find some kind of distraction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y’all like it! Next chapter might be up a bit early :)


	11. Some Recruitment

When he said distraction, he didn’t entirely expect an arrow to come flying towards him off a balcony. He caught it in midair and started scanning for a shooter, but didn’t see anyone. 

The arrow had a note on it, scrawled on a red cloth, which turned out to be something like a scavenger hunt for red things. It was enough of a distraction for him. 

It led him through the city, from a garden plaza to the markets to the docks, and eventually the pieces of this hunt formed a time and place for… something. It wasn’t until later that night, so he spent some time actually exploring for the sake of exploring.

It was late in the evening when he went back, and he ran into Varric getting food in the tavern downstairs. The Hunter slid onto the bench beside him. 

To Varric’s credit, he only jumped a little bit. “Those feather things come off? I thought they were sewn on or something.”

“Nah. Easier to blend in without them.”

“Huh. Learn something new everyday.” Varric hesitated. “So, that guy from earlier, in the square.”

“Cassandra called him Lord Seeker, I think.”

“Yeah. Well, he’s the leader of the seekers, if you hadn’t guessed, and he seemed to know something about you.”

He’d been trying not to think about it. There was nothing he could do at the moment, and he would absolutely work himself up about it. “He did.”

“And you don’t recognize anything at all about him?”

The Hunter hesitated. “That… that badge he was wearing.”

“The seeker emblem?”

“No. Well, I don’t think that’s the Seeker emblem. That’s what Cassandra wears, right?”

“Right. So what badge?”

“He had it on a cord, around his neck. It was shaped like a curved cross, decorated silver.” He had one just like it, in the dream. 

“Do you think you could sketch it?”

He could. He drew out what it looked like, the shape, the ridges, the ornate swirls, down to the last detail. And the people he’d grown up with said drawing was a useless skill. He was using it now. Varric said he’d run it through his contacts, and send a copy to Leliana so she could do the same. 

He slipped out later that night. He let Solas know before he left so the group wouldn’t panic, and then set out for the meeting place he’d uncovered. 

It led him down an alley filled with guards in a uniform he didn’t recognize, but they hardly saw him before they went down. He didn’t have his Saif, but he still had his throwing knives. It was easy enough to toss them from hiding spots before going to retrieve them. These guards didn’t make their patrol routes very well. 

The trail of guards led him to a man in an ornate mask, who launched a fireball at him on sight. He jumped away easily, and faced the man. A mage, then?

“The Herald of Andraste! It must have taken much to find me.” 

“Who are you?”

“Like you don’t know! I’m too important for this to be a coincidence. I can’t image what lengths you must have gone through to be here tonight.”

Well, this guy seemed like kind of an ass. An ass that recognized him. Maybe he should have covered his face to avoid situations like this? Ah well, he had plenty of knives left. He was about to throw one, when he heard a voice from off to the side. 

“Just say ‘what’.”

“What is the-“ An arrow appeared in his face. Well. 

A small, thin blond haired woman walked out from behind one of the pillars this city seemed so fond of. 

“Ha! Did ya see that? ‘Just say what’, and he did. Rich tits always try to get more than they deserve.” She looked up at him from the dead man. “So you’re the… and you’re an elf. Hopefully you’re not too elfy.”

“Is it bad that I’m an elf?”

“No, it’s just… it’s whatever. But what matters is you’re the one who glows, right?”

“I… yeah, my hand glows. Is that what this is about? Who are you?”

“Kind of. Well, I’m Red Jenny.”

“Red Jenny?” A title?

“Well, you’ve heard of the friends of Red Jenny?” He hadn’t, but oh well. “Well, that’s me. I’m Red Jenny. Well, one of them.”

A network then. “So you’re a leader of a group of… ‘friends’, and that makes you Red Jenny? It’s a… code name?”

She grinned. “Yeah, you’re gettin’ it. Good to see you’re not all elfy like I thought you’d be. Dalish and all, right?”

“Kind of.” Well, a little odd maybe, but certainly friendly. He stuck his hand out. “Sukest.”

She shook it. “I’m Sera!” She gestured to a crate nearby. “This is cover, get ‘round it. Guards will be here, but it’s okay. Someone tipped me the key to their equipment shed, they’ve got no breeches!”

No… what? But sure enough, the guards rounding the corner were pants-less. His laugh was somewhat hysterical as he jumped the box and started throwing knives. The upside to fighting from a distance was it kept the blood off his clothes. What the rest of his group didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. 

Sera was a skilled archer in her own right, and between them the fight was over quickly. 

“Good, right? No breeches!”

The Hunter, still laughing, tried to catch his breath. “Yeah, that, that was pretty good.”

She looked at him appraisingly for a moment, then nodded. “Alright. I want in.”

“Hmm?” He dusted himself off. “In?”

“Into the Inquisition. Me and my friends can help you.”

He’d finally calmed down. “So these friends of yours. Who exactly are they?”

“So, it’s like this. All you important people are up there, all ‘I’ll get you, I’ll get you, ooo, ooo, I’ll get you…” She was distracted for a moment. “So, they’re the little guys, the ones who usually get stepped on. The friends of Red Jenny. So here, in your face, I’m Sera, but I’m also Red Jenny.”

Huh. “A way for everyone to do something, huh?”

She’d looked a little unsure, but brightened. “Yeah!”

He grinned. “Sounds good to me. You’re in.”

They roamed the city a while longer. There were a few hours until dawn, and they spent it chatting and causing general mayhem. Sera nicked a couple fruit tarts off some restaurant’s kitchen windowsill and they climbed up on a balcony to enjoy them. 

“So, how’s a Dalish loosen up like this? You’re alright.”

“Probably by having no memory of being Dalish. Amnesia, from the mark, apparently.”

She looked up, surprised. “Really? Don’t remember a thing about yourself?”

“Didn’t know anything but the language and my name a few weeks ago. Met a dwarf, first thought was ‘that’s the smallest man I’ve ever seen’.”

She snorted. “Well, you seem to be doing alright for yourself. Herald of Andraste, yeah?”

“Honestly, I’d rather not be. I’m not entirely sure who Andraste is. Like, I’ve got the general idea of her, a prophet from a long time ago, but I’m not exactly religious.”

“So you don’t believe? Kinda nice to know you won’t get lost in some ‘this is my holy calling’ thing.”

“I guess.” They sat in silence for a little bit. “Is that the sun?”

“Yeah.”

“Huh.” He stood up. He hadn’t meant to be out quite this long. “I should go before they send a search party. You have somewhere to be?”

“Nah.” 

“Well, come on then. Let’s go get you introduced to the rest of the group.”

They made their way back to the tavern just as the city was waking up. Varric was getting breakfast when they walked in. 

“Well, you must have been up early. Who’s this?”

“You could say that, I guess. This is Sera. She’s offered to help the Inquisition.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. Well, nice to meet you, Sera.”

They spent most of the morning asleep. Sera went out around noon to gather a couple things to take to Haven, and the Hunter went back to wandering. 

He got halfway down the street when someone ran up to him. 

“A letter for the Herald!” The man handed him an ornately decorated envelope from his bag. A courier, then. 

“Thank you.” What else could he say? The man nodded an darted back down the street. 

The letter itself was an invitation to some sort of court party. Well. Alright, then. He started back for the tavern. It was for later that day, he should probably tell someone before he just took off. 

The invitation was from a Madame de Fer, for some sort of party at a nearby estate. 

Varric was nowhere to be found, but he did run into Solas, who said it shouldn’t be a problem to attend as long as someone went with him. 

That’s what led the two of them to a grand manor, walking in through the front doors. 

The place was richly decorated, nobles in masks killing about, speaking in hushed but not hidden tones. They were announced (or, well, the Hunter was announced, as Lord Sukest) as they walked in. A pair of nobles near the bottom of the grand staircase greeted him. 

“You must be a guest of Madame de Fer, or perhaps Duke Bastien?” the man asked.

“Are you here on business?” the woman asked. “I’ve heard the most curious tales of you. I cannot imagine half of them are true.”

Fuck it. “Everything you’ve heard, all true.”

The woman gasped in delight. “Better and better! The inquisition should attend more of these parties.”

“The Inquisition? What a bunch of pig shit.” A man walked down the stairs, overly confident. “Washed up sisters and crazed seekers? No one can take them seriously.” He approached the Herald. “Everyone knows it’s just an excuse for a bunch of political outcasts to grab power. 

”We just want to close the Breach.” 

“A likely story. Everyone knows what your Inquisition really is. If you were an honorable man, you’d step outside and face the charges.”

The man was going to respond, when he was quite suddenly and quite literally frozen in place. A woman in a hanin and an ornate dress came down the other side of the staircase. “My dear Marquis, how unkind of you to use such language in my house, to my guests. You know such rudeness is intolerable. 

“Madame Vivienne, I humbly beg your pardon!” He sounded actually worried. 

“You should. Whatever ever am I going to do with you, my dear?” The woman turned to the Hunter. “My Lord, you are the injured party in this affair. What would you have me do with this foolish, foolish man?

“A few harsh words are hardly worth any interest. Do as you wish with him.”

She insulted him (quite thoroughly, by the looks of the nearby guests, though the Hunter hadn’t understood much h if it), and then she sent him scampering off as if he’d been assigned a death sentence. She then turned her attention to the Hunter. “I’d delighted you were able to attend this little gathering. I’ve so wanted to meet you.”

He gave a short bow. “But of course. Who could decline?”

She smiled. “If you would?” She gestured towards the upstairs. 

They went up, to a large window overlooking the grounds. 

“Allow me to introduce myself. I am Vivienne, First Enchanter of Montsimmard and Enchantress to the Imperial Court.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Thank you. Ah, but I didn’t invite you to the chateau for pleasantries.” She turned to the window. “With Divine Justinia dead, the Chantry is in shambles. Only the Inquisition might restore sanity and order to our frightened people. As the leader of the last loyal mages in Thedas, I feel it only right that I lend my assistance to your cause.”

Some mages are better than no mages. He’d take it. “Then I accept your assistance gratefully.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “So soon? Without question?”

“Well, I don’t know if I can just add you on, but you’ve got my support for joining. It’ll probably be Leliana or Cassandra who finalize it.”

She looked thoughtful, if a bit confused. “I’m surprised to have your support so quickly. When I heard that the Herald was a Dalish elf, I’d expected…”

“Some kind of confrontation?”

“Something of the sort.”

“Someone Dalish might, but I don’t really know what that means. The mark I have came with amnesia. Most of what I know about Dalish so far is that they get face tattoos and live in the woods.”

She looked surprised, but recovered quickly. “Well, for someone in your position, you are doing remarkably well.”

He gave a short bow. “Thank you.”

They stood a while longer, discussing the war and the state of the Mages. When he was confused by the places and names she brought up, she would explain further. He learned she was a mage raised in a Circle, and unlike the rebels he’d seen so far, wanted them back. It seemed she would be a wonderful ally to the Inquisition. 

He was also learned that the Marquis was about to be disowned for being so publicly humiliated, and would likely go join the civil war the country was apparently fighting, to either win some of his honor back or die. 

She agreed to meet with the rest of their inner circle back at Haven, and he found Solas near the entrance on the way out. “That went well, I think.”

“Oh?”

“We have a new ally.”

He told Solas what had happened on the way back to their lodgings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A day early is still early, I’ll take it. Hope y’all liked it!


	12. I mean it’s a chapter I guess

They got back just in time to find everyone else settling down to eat. 

Varric saw them walk in and grinned. “Perfect timing! Have a seat.” 

Sera was also there, surprisingly. He thought she’d be out and about or getting ready to leave. 

“So, who is this new friend of yours?” Cassandra asked as he sat down.

“This is Sera. She’s offered to help the Inquisition.”

“When was this?” Oh right. Solas hadn’t known either. 

“Yesterday.”

“And we’re bringing her back with us?” Cassandra raised her eyebrows. 

“She’s useful. An excellent shot, and she’s got friends everywhere.”

She sighed, but didn’t object. 

“It seems you make friends rather quickly. This makes two in as many days.”

“Two?” Cassandra raised an eyebrow. 

The Hunter grinned. “Madame de Fer has offered to help us, and with her comes the support of the remaining mages who didn’t want to leave the circles.”

Varric took a drink. “Every time you go somewhere, something big happens. I need to start tagging along on your escapades.”

They had one more day in Val Royeaux. That morning, Varric had insisted on taking him somewhere to get more clothes. He’d insisted the ones he had were fine, but the dwarf wasn’t having it. 

“Just a couple things,” he’d said, hours before. 

The Hunter now had more clothes than he’d ever had before going to Yharnam, and didn’t know what to do with most of them. Why did anyone need so many clothes?

And with the clothes came scented soap, little bits of jewelry (“Haven is full of nobles right now, you want to look your best.”), and other little trinkets. 

He didn’t mind the book shop, though. A smaller store, off to the side, in an alleyway instead of on one of the larger streets. He picked up a bestiary, a book on herbs and their uses, and then something “not work related” at Varric’s suggestion. 

He settled on poetry, a book of soft, quiet verses that reminded him of his life before he’d been a Hunter. That life was growing smaller and smaller in his mind, less important, but he wanted something to remember it by. 

He then discovered that Varric actually was a published author, and used that to change the subject when his taste of literature was questioned (“Poetry? Really?”).

Varric left sometime around lunch, claiming he had business to take care of, so the Hunter was back to roaming. He was back near the main square when an elven woman in mage robes caught his attention and waved him over. 

“If I might have a moment of your time?”

The Hunter approached. “How can I help you?”

“I am Grand Enchanter Fiona. I’d heard of this gathering, and I wanted to see the fabled Herald of Andraste with my own eyes.”

“Grand Enchanter? As in, the leader of the rebel Mages? Isn’t it a bit dangerous for you to be here right now? And weren’t you at the Conclave?”

“Both the Lord Seeker and I sent representatives to negotiate in our stead, thinking it was a trap. I won’t pretend I’m not glad to live. I lost many dear friends that day. It disgusts me to think that the Templars might get away with this. I’m hoping you won’t let them.”

“I’m guessing you aren’t here just to see me.”

“No, I’m not. I’ve come to offer an invitation to Redcliffe. Come meet with the Mages. An alliance could help us both, after all. I hope to see you there. Au revoir, my lord Herald.” She gave a short bow and walked away. 

Well. Alright, then. The Templars wanted nothing to do with them and the Mages just offered an alliance. That choice was made, then. He’d best tell the others. 

The others were surprised, to say the least, when he met up with them at dinner. 

“Grand Enchanter Fiona?” Solas frowned. “Here?”

“So she said. I’ve never seen her before, so I suppose it could have been anyone, but if it was her, we have an invitation.”

“What did she look like? I have met her before, at least.” That was a good point, actually. Thanks, Cassandra.

“A pale elven woman with dark hair, on the shorter side. She was wearing mage robes as well.”

“That does match her description. We should bring this to Leliana. If it was really her, we should at least investigate this invitation.”

They started back for Haven early the next morning. It would be four or five days before they arrived, depending on the mountain paths. 

Five days before he heard anything about the Lord Seeker and his badge. His new badge, if Cassandra was correct. Varric had shown her the drawing, to see if it was a seeker thing. 

“It is not. I have never seen anything like it before. The previous Lord Seeker didn’t wear one, and last I saw him, I didn’t see Lord Seeker Lucius with anything like that.”

“So where could he have gotten a silver badge like that?” He asked, only half paying attention. 

“Badge? And I thought it was iron.” Solas raised an eyebrow. 

Oops. “What else would you call it?”

“A necklace? An amulet?” Varric looked up from his papers. “Some kind of jewelry. Something like this is usually silver.”

Solas looked thoughtful. “But a badge was the first thing you thought to call it?”

“Yeah.”

“Hmm. A piece of jewelry could be simple style, or have a religious purpose, but a badge usually signifies rank.” He stopped, as if wondering if he should ask his next question. “Do you have a badge?”

The other two looked to Solas, then to him as Solas continued. 

“Perhaps not one that looks like this”, he gestured to the drawing, “but something that stands out to you as something of the same purpose?”

The Hunter was silent, but his hand moved to the hollow of his collarbone, where the Crow badge hung. His silence spoke volumes. 

“May I see it?” Solas asked quietly. 

He carefully drew the badge out from under his armor. A surprisingly sturdy charm, made of onyx and silver, a small, styled crow, its wings outstretched. The small loop was smaller than his palm, but carried an immeasurable weight with it. 

He didn’t remove it from its cord, but no one asked him to. Solas leaned forwards for a better look. 

“Remarkable craftsmanship. A symbol I do not recognize, but Leliana may. Thank you, for allowing us to see.”

Varric moved closer. “This one’s silver too. Some kind of bird?”

“A crow.” He spoke quietly, but everyone heard him. 

“A crow. It matches your outfit, doesn’t it. I know there’s an Antivan assassin group called the crows, but this doesn’t seem quite their style.”

He tucked the badge away. 

Solas sat back. “With your permission, I’ll ask Leliana to look into this. If not these badges in particular, maybe we can find something similar. A lead, at least.”

“It’s fine with me.”

“Alright, then.”

The Hunter spent a large amount of time out of the wagons after that, roaming with the soldiers, but never too far. 

He caught the others glancing at him from time to time, when they thought he wasn’t looking. Well, it wasn’t like they had no reason to be suspicious. 

The arrived back at Haven on the evening of the fourth day. The new supplies and returning soldiers were shuffled away, off to find places to rest. 

The Hunter helped settle some, then went to lie down. The Lord Seeker unsettled him more than he should have allowed. Perhaps he could ask the Doll? But that would mean trekking through the chantry, and everyone was always out and about. He’d run into someone on the way in and get pulled into a conversation. 

Besides that, she might not have an answer for him. She offered sound, but vague advice. Gherman gave names, but Gherman was dead now. He’d never liked the man anyways. 

No, he’d have to wait and see what Leliana turned up. Until tomorrow, sleep would have to be enough of a distraction. That said, he wasn’t at all tired and had been abusing his supplies of sedatives enough already. He only had a couple on hand, and would have to go into the dream for more. 

He did have a few cocktails on hand, though. He sat on the bed, leaning back against the wall, and drew one up. If only the dream had given him a corkscrew. Ah, well. He levered a throwing knife into it and popped it open. Bent the blade, but then, he had tons of these. 

If only he could remember how he’d gotten here. He’d gotten back to the dream, had fought Gherman. He found the man’s scythe, so he must have won but he couldn’t remember it. 

He took a long drink. He’d been a bastard to fight, too. How come he got to fly in the dream? Sure, it was more like a prolonged jump, but still. He couldn’t do that. Could he? Damn, he’d have to try that next time he was there. 

Distantly, he could feel the mark on his hand sparking. But the fight. It had gone on and on. He took another drink. That gun was bullshit and there’s no way an old man with bad eyesight could aim that well. He chalked it up to dream magic. 

He could feel his hand sparking brighter now, but paid it no mind. His drink was enough to dull the pain. But what had happened at the end. He had won. He knew it. He just couldn’t remember it. 

They had been dancing around the crosses, scythe and saif, neither making much progress. But he had been, hadn’t he? Gherman hit harder, but not by much, and the Hunter was faster. 

And in a moment of clarity, he could remember the killing blow. He’d managed a swing during one of Gherman’s wide sweeps, and had buried the blade of the Saif into his chest. That had been it. But then something had happened. Something...

He was jerked back to reality by a sharp, pulsing pain at the back of his neck. The light from the mark had spread up his arm, dancing around the runes there. 

He dropped the (thankfully empty) bottle and slapped his non-marked hand on the back of his neck. It didn’t help, but it didn’t hurt any worse. Well, he didn’t think so, but his hand came away bloody. Huh. Shit. 

He hadn’t even thought of that. The power from his runes evidently didn’t work with the mark very well. 

And something about it seemed to be blocking his memories. Well. Maybe that was when he’d gotten the mark? Had killing Gherman broken part of the dream? But it had seemed normal last time he was there. He’d gotten in without a problem. The Doll and the messengers were still there, the garden still thrived. 

He opened another bottle. He was too tired for this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s another one :D
> 
> Hope y’all enjoyed :)


	13. Hey look something’s happened

Sera ducked into the tavern. They’d gotten back the day before, and Sukest had vanished right after. He hadn’t reappeared until noon, and he looked awful when he did. Even his cloak/wing things looked rough. 

Either he had the worst hangover she’d ever seen or he was getting sick. She was betting on hangover, given how rattled he’d been on the trip back. 

She probably wasn’t meant to be eavesdropping, but it was really easy to just walk by the wagon while they were talking. It was cloth covered, so they couldn’t even see her. 

He’d told her he had amnesia, and from what she heard, someone had recognized him, and he’d recognized the guy’s jewelry, but not the guy. 

But did it really matter so much who recognized him? He seemed like a decent person. He’d had no problem inviting her along to Haven, even said he’d liked the idea of her Friends. The people here would protect him from anyone coming after him. 

But he didn’t seem to see it that way, so she’d come in here to find that dwarf, Varric. He seemed close with Sukest, he might know what to do. 

She found him at a table, leaning over a pile of papers. 

“Hey.” He didn’t look up. “Heeeyyy.” No response. “Hey!”

He startled and looked up. “Can I help you?”

“What’s up with him?”

“Hmm?” He only looked half awake. 

“Sukest. He’s all wilty, and it’s not just the hangover he’s got.”

Varric sighed and put down his pen. “It shook him up, I think, to recognize something from his past. Having amnesia can’t be easy.”

“Do you lot not know where he’s from?”

“We’re trying to find out, but there’s not a lot to go on.” He gestured to the papers in front of him. “He has the Dalish markings, but he doesn’t act or fight like any Dalish I’ve ever met, and there were only one or two clans at the Conclave, who we’ve already contacted. They aren’t missing anyone like him.”

“So, what, he’s an ex-Dalish? Or he wasn’t even here for the Conclave, and was just passing through.”

Varric glanced around at the other tavern-goers casually, then dropped is voice. “Running theories are that he’s was slave from Tevinter or he was under the Qun.”

Oh fuck. “But then, why would some Templar recognize him?”

“I won’t ask this you know about that, but that’s the problem. We don’t know. I’m running what we do know through my contacts, and Nightingale’s doing the same, but we haven’t found anything yet.”

“Well, if he’s recognized something so far, couldn’t you show him stuff from different places, and see if he recognizes anything else?”

“That’s… not a bad idea, but if he’s this shaken up over a necklace, that might not be good for him.”

“Speaking of, do you know anything that might help him?”

“Hmm?”

“He’s just sittin’ around being sad and confused. Does he have any hobbies? Anything he does for fun.”

Varric thought for a moment. “Well, aside from what we ask him to do, he mostly just vanishes. I’m not really sure what he does, or if he does anything.”

Well, that wasn’t terribly helpful. “Nothing at all?” 

“Not that I know of. Chuckles might know something, try asking him. I’ve gotta finish these letters.” He picked up his pen. 

She didn’t really want to talk to ‘Chuckles’, so she set off to find where Sukest had crawled off to. She’d just ask him herself.

Easier said than done, it turns out. Now she knew what Varric meant when he’d said ‘vanish’. Eventually she went up to the chantry. Maybe he was in a meeting or something.

She walked in just as Cassandra was walking out, and the two narrowly avoided each other. 

“Ah. My apologies.” Cassandra looked at her. “Sera, correct?” She looked unsure, over more than just her name.

Well, she was a good a person to ask as any. “Yeah. Hey, have you seen Sukest?” 

She sighed. “No, I was just looking for him myself.”

“Aw, piss. I was hoping he might be in a meeting or something. I haven’t seen him around.”

“Well, where all have you looked?”

That’s how the two of them set out, albeit somewhat awkwardly, in search of the missing Herald. 

They found him, a good hour later, out in the woods, near a lone cabin, with a decently sized crate of bottles. A good portion of them were empty. 

Sukest was laying flat on his back in the snow, staring up at the sky, and then staring up at the seeker looking down at him. 

“Hello.”

“Ugh.”

He stared blankly. Cassandra stared back. 

Sera went over to the crate of bottles. 

A decent collection of alcohol. A good number of bottles were empty. She picked one up. “Where’d you get all this?”

He waved an arm towards the cabin. “Guy who lived here’s dead. Didn’t think he’d mind.” Then he gestured at the crate. “Feel free.

Screw it. She sat down with the bottle. He sat up and handed her a thin knife bent into a corkscrew. 

Cassandra raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Aw, come on.” He patted the snow. “Need some way to relax.” 

Sera wasn’t sure if he meant Cassandra or himself. She thought the knife would break in the cork, but it was surprisingly sturdy.

Surprisingly, Cassandra did sit down and take a bottle. Sera passed her the knife. 

“So, you’re out here drinking in the snow?” It was awfully cold to stay out long. 

“Was inside, came out here.”

Well, that would explain why nobody saw him. 

He went to take a drink, but his current bottle was empty, so he put it back in the box and grabbed another one, pulling the cork out with his teeth. 

Sera looked in the box. It wasn’t all one kind of drink, there were bottles of wine, whisky, and other drinks with smeared labels, and one bottle in the corner just labeled ‘good luck’. 

They drank in silence for a little bit. She wasn’t sure exactly what she was drinking, but it was decent. 

Eventually, he spoke up. “So, how goes planning? We going back to the hinterlands?”

“Maybe. We might go up to the coast first. Our scouts are having trouble there.” Cassandra had some kind of whiskey. Her hand was over most of the label though, so it was hard to see the details. 

“Huh. That’s up by the uh,” he paused. “Waking sea?”

“Yes.”

“Alright.”

Sera decided to speak up. “So, what’s go you all shook up?”

“Hmm?” He looked over. 

“You’re out here drinking. You still ruffled over that guy?”

He frowned, then sighed. “I guess. Wasn’t expecting a sword badge out here, much less a radiant one.”

Wait, what? Cassandra’s eyes snapped up to him, then over to her. Well. 

Time to wing it, then. “Where would you expect to find one?” 

He made a big waving gesture. “Prolly up by the cathedral.” How drunk was he? He couldn’t‘ve drunk all these tonight, could he?

“By the cathedral?” Cassandra spoke carefully, warily. 

“Y’know, up in cathedral ward.” He frowned. “Well, above it.”

Cathedral ward? What? “Somewhere you know?”

“I’ve gone through it. Not from around there, though.”

Cassandra leaned forwards. “So, how did you get from there to here?”

“I-“ His brow furrowed. The hand he’d had on the ground, buried in the snow, was glowing, giving flashes of green light. He lifted it and shook it absentmindedly. “I don’t know.” 

She raised an eyebrow. “You don’t… know.”

“I was… fighting. Gherman. Bastard. I… won, I think. Then…” He trailed off. His hand was flashing brighter now, trails of green working their way up his arm. He hissed, and slapped a hand to the back of his neck. “These fucking things. I- I can’t remember. It’s all muddled.” He was practically growling now. The hand from his neck left blood in the snow as he fumbled for his drink. 

Cassandra looked as lost as Sera felt. There was more blood on his hand than she thought. She hopped up and went to take a look at his neck. 

There were four - burns? Brands? - on the base of his neck, odd shapes, three a half-circle around the fourth. These were the source of the blood. They were raised, like they were fresh. 

Sukest grumbled unintelligibly, but let her look. When she stepped back, he pulled the back of his collar down and laid in the snow. He shoved his hand back under as well. 

“So those things,” Cassandra spoke carefully, the quietest Sera had ever heard her. “What are they? Where did you get them?”

Sukest giggled, almost hysterical. “I got them in a dream.”

“A- a dream.”

“Yeah. Well. I had to find the tools first. All the way in fucking Hemwick. Full of lunatics, that place.” The last bit sounded more like he was talking to himself. 

It was silent. Not the tired silence of before, but a stunned one. 

Eventually Cassandra looked over to him, likely to ask another question, but Sukest was asleep in the snow. 

They sat in silence a while longer, before Sera spoke up. “So, should we carry him back?”

Cassandra startled. “Yes, I suppose we should.”

Sera glanced at the cabin. “Or we just take him in there. Less questions.”

“You have a point.”

They (Cassandra) took him inside and set him on the bed. Sera drug the crate inside, along with the bottles they had out, and then the pair of them went back into the village. 

Sera was up late the next morning, but much less hungover than she expected to be. She went over to the tavern, to ask if anyone had seen Sukest, but didn’t need to. He was already there. 

He looked awful. Bags under his eyes, unfocused, slouching over a table. Solas was next to him, looking at his marked hand. 

She approached. “You okay?”

“Mmm. Mark was acting up. Flashing, scared a couple of soldiers.”

Solas looked troubled. “I don’t know why it did. It seems calm now, at least, but something irritated it.” The physical mark, not the glowing bit, the scar-like one on his hand, look irritated, raised and pink-ish instead of white. “What were you doing last night?”

“Went out to the woods, had a drink, passed out in the cabin out there.”

“Was anyone with you?”

“No, I don’t think so.” He didn’t remember?

“I’d ask how much you had, but your hangover says it all.”

Sukest groaned and set his forehead on the table. Solas looked over, then did a double take at the marks on his neck. He touched one, and Sukest immediately hissed and shot back up. “Let’s not do that.”

Solas looked like he was going to insist, but didn’t. “Well, until we know more, don’t go out drinking by yourself. If you must go out of the village, take someone with you until we know more.”

He sighed. “Fine.” Then he turned to Sera and grinned, even if a bit forced. “What’s up?”

“Wanted to come see if you were feeling better. You’ve been all mopey lately.”

He said he was, but she didn’t entirely believe him. 

She set off after that, to go look for Cassandra. She let her know that Sukest didn’t remember the previous night, just in case, and then went to find Leliana. She had a few new leads for her, like ‘Gherman’ and ‘Hemwick’.


	14. A whole bunch of stuff happens

It had been a rough couple of days. The mark, it seemed, was determined to drive him mad. He’d gone fishing around his mind for any other blank spots, just in case, and had found three. 

Well, four, but two of them were right next to each other, and what happened between was hazy, so they might as well have been the same one. 

He had two blank spots in Micolash’s weird tower, one of them throughout but smaller, and one at the top. He knew, vaguely, what was up there. He could think the words just fine, but he couldn’t see the memory. 

The two that were muddled together were past the astral clock tower. In a small whaling village, he knew. Again, he could think about what he was missing, as long as he didn’t try to look. 

Adding the one in the dream, that made five blank spots. This was going to drive him crazy. 

He’d gone to the meeting yesterday, hungover, but hadn’t done much but stand there. Well, he stood until Josephine brought in a chair from somewhere, then he just tried not to fall asleep. 

He’d spent the rest of the afternoon in the woods, and then he’d found a sizable crate of alcohol in the abandoned cabin out there. Well, it wasn’t like the owner was coming back for it. 

Alcohol wasn’t as intoxicating as blood, but he’d had way too much blood in the last few days, so it would have to do. 

He’d started drinking inside, then went outside, and then must have gone back inside eventually, even if he didn’t remember it, because he woke up in the bed there. 

That morning he’d hauled himself back into the village just in time for Varric to sit him down in the tavern and make him eat breakfast (lunch?). Varric had to go send some letters, but Solas had taken his place to check on the mark. 

It was inflamed, angry, but calm at the moment. It had stopped spitting out green light, for the time being. It had still been sparking slightly when he went in that morning, and more than a few soldiers gave him looks, ranging from concerned to cautious. 

Even Sera came in to check on him. He must look awful. Solas couldn’t find anything wrong with the mark, and told him to keep an eye on it before leaving. 

Varric came back eventually and led him back to his room to make him change. “The point of buying other clothes is to wear them.”

Everyone had apparently decided it was time to babysit him, because he didn’t have a moment alone until he fell asleep. 

The next morning, he went up to the chantry to see what he’d missed. There wasn’t a meeting right now, but Josephine was happy to catch him up on what he’d missed. 

There were plans to follow up on Fiona’s invitation, but not for a few weeks. In the meantime, their scouts were having trouble further north, along the coast. There were plans to leave in a few days, once they’d gotten supplies together. 

He went down into the basement, then through the hidden door an up to the lamp once he was sure no one followed him. He had a few questions for the Doll, and a few things to investigate in the dream. 

The dream looked the same as it did the last time he was there, peaceful and unchanging. The Doll had nodded off, so he set about investigating the dream first. 

The gate back to the field was locked, and looked untouched, even though he remembered breaking more than a few things while he was over there. 

Next, something he hadn’t thought to try before. He approached the line of stones that would lead him back to the city. He had yet to test if he could still go back. 

He could, it turned out. Central Yharnam remained as he’d left it, the blood moon high in the sky (and Gilbert’s broken window, which he tried not to think about). 

He’d thought that would be gone once he’d killed that thing, up on- his hand flared, green light clawing up his arm, and he fell to his knees. 

Right. Well. The blood moon remained. One more thing to ask the Doll about. Or, perhaps another Hunter. He changed back into his standard Hunter attire. This would be a bit of a trip. 

Old Yharnam was the same as when he’d last seen it. He took the back path, from Yahar’gul, to avoid most of the beasts. There was a straight path to Djura’s tower, and he knew it well. 

A few stupidly tall ladders later, he stood atop the tower. However, for the first time, there was no sign of Djura. The gatling gun stood unattended, covered in a thin layer of dust. 

Well. That threw a wrench in the works and set a sinking feeling into the Hunters stomach. 

Maybe Alfred would know. Cathedral Ward was a quick trip away, but Alfred was gone too. 

Valtr was missing as well, and he didn’t know where to begin searching for Eileen. 

In a last ditch attempt to find someone, anyone, he went to Byrgenwerth. Willem remained, his rocking chair still facing the lake. He was as wordless as always, but his presence was soothing. 

He wasn’t even human, judging by the odd growths on his neck, but the presence of something else sane (or sane enough) helped a great deal. 

He went back to the dream, and gently touched the Doll’s arm. She startled awake immediately, as she always had. 

“Good Hunter. You have returned.”

“I have. And I have a few questions.”

“Of course. Ask me anything you like.”

“Do you know what’s going on? The blood moon is still in the sky, and everyone is gone. I thought it was supposed to go when-“ his hand sparked, and he paused. 

“I’m afraid I do not know.” She paused. “Your hand. Does it trouble you?” 

“It’s fine, just a bit of an annoyance. Don’t worry.”

“As you wish.” She bowed. “I’m sorry I could not give you the information you seek.”

“It’s fine. It was a long shot anyways. I should get going.”

“Take care, good hunter.”

He changed back into his ‘casual’ clothes and went back to Haven, to the secret room, and then back through the dungeon. The chantry hall, when he opened the door into it, was in what could only be described as organized chaos. 

Scouts were hurrying in and out, the door to the meeting room was open, and there was a worried feeling in the air. He saw Josephine directing a few people near the door to her office, and started over. 

A few scouts stopped to stare as he went past. He slid through them, up to stand by Josephine. “What’s going on?”

She jumped and let out a small yelp (maybe he should have made some noise when he approached), and then whirled to face him. “Where have you been?!”

What? He’d have been gone like five minutes here. “What do you mean?” 

She grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the meeting room. On the way there, to a nearby scout, “let Leliana know he’s been found.”

Inside the room, Cullen, Cassandra, Varric, and Vivienne (when had she gotten here?) were scattered around the table. 

They all looked up when the pair walked in. 

Varric immediately darted forwards. “There you are? Where have you been?”

“I- I don’t understand.”

“You don’t- what do you mean?” Cassandra narrowed her eyes. 

“I haven’t been anywhere. Haven’t left Haven or anything. I went downstairs to wander around for a few minutes, and everyone was in a panic when I came back.” At least, that’s how it should have looked from here. 

At that moment, Leliana appeared in the doorway, closely followed by Solas and Sera. 

“You!” She began. “Where-“ She noticed the overall confusion from the room, and looked around warily. “What’s happened?”

“I’ve only been gone a few minutes. What’s- what’s happened?”

Sera stepped around Leliana and into the room. “Well, for us it’s been a lot longer than that. Nobody’d seen you since last night, and it’s almost dark again!”

What? No. He’d tested this already. Time in the dream didn’t pass here. 

Wait. Time in the dream didn’t pass here. Did time in Yharnam? Shit. He opened his mouth to say something, but he didn’t know what, so he closed it again. 

The room was silent. 

Vivienne spoke first. “Well, it would seem we have quite the dilemma. Unless, of course, someone here has discovered how to bend time.”

Solas looked to the Hunter. “The mark?” He stepped forwards. “If I may?”

The Hunter held out his hand. Leliana sighed, and turned to the rest of the room. “Well, he’s found. We should return to our duties.” She turned and left the room, and most of the others followed. Only Varric, Solas, and Vivienne remained. 

Solas had him sit down by the table, and he started through his set of spells. 

Vivienne slid forwards. “Does this kind of thing happen often.” 

“More than we’d like it too.” Solas didn’t look up. “There is still much we don’t know about the mark, and the side effects still carry an element of surprise to them.” He cast another spell, and the Hunter hissed as touched the mark. “My apologies.”

“It’s fine.” 

Vivienne stopped short, and then turned to the Hunter. “Does the mark affect your neck, dear?”

“Not directly, but sometimes.”

“Do you mind if I..” She gestured towards him. 

“Not at all.”

She moved behind him, slid the back of his shirt down slightly, and let out a quiet gasp. 

The runes were sore, not hurting at the moment, but he knew they looked awful, as if they were just put there. 

“My dear, what-“ She brushed over one lightly, and he jerked forwards with a hiss. She snapped her hand back immediately. 

“Sorry. They just… they act up when the mark does.”

Solas nodded in agreement. “Despite their appearance, he’s had them since we found him.”

She looked at him with a mix of caution and and concern. “These do this every time your mark acts up?”

“Usually, not quite all the time. The smaller flashes don’t do anything to them.”

Solas moves from studying his hand to check the runes. “I’m afraid I haven’t been able to find anything about them. Leliana has also searched, but to no avail. I don’t suppose you’ve ever seen anything like them?”

“I have not.” She was silent for a moment. “Is it only the mark that causes this, or is it other magic as well?”

That was a good question, actually. “If any other magic has set them off, I haven’t noticed it.”

“And you, Solas. Have you ever been nearby during one of these flashes?”

“I have not. They occur mostly at night. I thought perhaps interaction with the fade while he was dreaming could cause them, but they do not occur every night.”

“Hmm. It could be worthwhile to investigate their active effects, rather than their potential purpose. Do they give off any kind of magic on their own?”

“Not that I’ve found. I would guess they only activate in specific situations.”

Well, some of them did, kind of. He debated setting them off with the mark, just to see what they’d do, but decided against it. 

He was free to go after a bit, and left Solas and Vivienne to their discussion. Varric followed him out, of the room and then the building. 

“So, now that we’re out of earshot, how are you holding up? Can’t be easy, having shit like this happen without warning.”

The Hunter sighed. “It’s definitely not ideal, but it could be worse.”

“That’s true, I guess.”

They walked to the outskirts of the village, without having any real destination in mind. 

“So, I know you didn’t say anything back there, but do you have any idea what could be setting the mark off?”

He started to say that he didn’t, but stopped. He didn’t know what caused the little flashes, but he did have a way to set it off. 

Varric stopped. “Do you?”

“Not exactly.” He stopped as well, and leaned against a building. “I don’t know what causes all the little random flashes, but I can start it on purpose.”

“How?” Varric looked up at him.

The Hunter avoided eye contact, instead looking out at the trees. “It happens whenever I try to remember.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. Maybe these people could help him solve this. 

He heard Varric breathe in sharply, then out slowly. “It’s happened kind of a lot lately. Any reason in particular?”

He closed his eyes. “The memories are right there, like I could reach out and touch them. They’re so close, but I can’t quite reach.” It was annoying, but he could fight just fine, could help these people still.

Nobody spoke for a while. 

“I’m sorry, kid. That’s… that’s rough.” What? He opened his eyes and looked down at the Dwarf. 

“What are you apologizing for? This isn’t your fault.”

“It’s not, but I wouldn’t like to be in your shoes right now, especially with everything that’s happened recently.”

“It would be nice to know how I got here, sure, but I’ll live. I can deal with it.”

“But it seems cruel that you have to. Let me know if I can do anything to help, alright? If you remember a name, or a place, or even a symbol, and don’t want to be grilled about it, let me know. I’ll look into it without bringing Nightingale down on you.”

Oh. That would be… really nice, actually. “I… thank you, Varric.”

“Let me know if I can do anything to help, okay?”

Varric set off for the tavern, and a few minutes later the Hunter headed towards his room. It had been a long day, and sleep sounded fantastic right now. 

The Hunter woke early the next morning, and went to the tavern instead of the chantry. It was too early for a meeting, half the village was still asleep. 

This included Varric, but not Sera, who immediately waved him over when he entered. 

“Hey, you. Gave us quite the scare yesterday, I gotta say. How are you holding up?”

First Varric, now Sera? He must look awful. “I’ll live.”

“This kinda thing happen often? Weird fade stuff, I mean.” 

“Sometimes, but nothing major.” He nodded out the window at the Breach. “Happens more with that than with this.” He lifted his hand before letting it drop again. 

“Huh.” She looked out at the Breach. “Speaking of, what’s the plan for that? Not something you can just go shoot arrows at.” She paused. “I tried that. They didn’t come back down.”

“Well, some demon on the other side just had a very bad day.” 

She snorted. “I guess. But seriously, is there a plan?”

“Right now, it’s to get a bunch a power, shove it through the mark, and hope it can close the Breach the way it closes the smaller rifts.”

She didn’t say anything, and looked uncharacteristically worried. “That’s it? Doesn’t it do weird stuff already without more power? You vanished for a whole day already.”

He sighed. “Nobody has a better plan. I’ll live.”

“Will you though?”

Oh, if only she knew. “Well, as long as the Breach gets closed.”

“Are you serious?” She was upset now. Over what? That was his job, right? To close the Breach. 

“Yes?”

“But what about you? Dying doesn’t upset you? You don’t want to live in the world you fixed?”

“It’s not like I have anything else to do, anywhere to go back to.” He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. Well, Yharnam, but last he’d checked most of the city was turned. 

She breathed in sharply. “Well, we’ll fix that!”

“Hmm?” He cracked an eye open. 

“We’ll find you something, somewhere!” She looked borderline outraged, and the most determined he’d ever seen her. 

He sighed. “Well, you seem set on this.”

“I am! And it’ll work!”

“If you insist. But for now, how about breakfast?”

They did eat breakfast, and more of the village was awake by then, so they went up to the chantry. 

Josephine was up, her office door open, and she waved them in when they walked past. 

There was no meeting planned, no pressing topics, but they were set to leave for the northern coast the next day. She also mentioned that Solas had wanted to speak with him. 

Sera said she’d meet up with him later, and vanished among the buildings. He went up towards where Solas was staying, up near the apothecary, which he ducked into. 

“Well, look who’s reappeared!” Adan (the alchemist) looked up from his work table. “Good to have you back. Try not to vanish for good.”

“I’ll do my best.”

They chatted for a bit, before Solas came in looking for him. 

They sat at a table in Solas’ room, and Solas started through his spells, with a few new ones. 

These apparently didn’t give the desired effect. Solas stood. “With your permission, I’d like to try something.”

“Of course.”

“Without knowing what it is?” 

“This is your area of expertise.” 

Solas stood behind him, and he leaned forwards to let him see the runes better. “I’d like to try examining these the same way I do the mark, it’s alright with you.”

“I’ve no objections to it.”

“Very well. Tell me if any of these cause you discomfort.”

Solas started through his spells. They didn’t hurt, but they felt different than when they were cast on his hand. The magic caught oddly, spiraling, and after a particularly strong tug, he heard the mage gasp. 

“Everything alright?”

It was a moment before he responded, and he sounded out of breath when he did. “Yes, just…”

The Hunter felt another pulse, slightly stronger this time, then a stream, before it stopped abruptly, and Solas stumbled back.

He turned to look. “Are you alright?”

Solas took a moment to regain his composure. “Yes. I was simply startled.”

“Oh?”

“After all this time seeing them dormant, it was a shock to feel a power from them.” 

If he was lucky they wouldn’t feel like the forbidden blood magic this place had. “I thought you were looking for power?”

“I was I just… wasn’t expecting something like this.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know.” He still looked rattled, despite his best efforts. “This power feels foreign to me. It-“ he stopped, and took a deep breath. “I will consult some of my friends in the fade, see what they might know.”

“Your friends… spirits, right? Like Curiosity and Wisdom?”

“Yes.”

Solas left rather abruptly that night, but if he’d actually felt a bit of the runes’ power, it was understandable. 

It was hardly evening, so the Hunter set out to find something to do. He wasn’t supposed to be unsupervised, so unless he found someone to tag along, leaving the village was out. 

He was about to head for the tavern when Sera showed up. 

“Hey.” Hopefully she wasn’t still upset. She didn’t look it, but it was hard to tell. 

“Hey. So, you’re not supposed to wander off on your own, yeah?”

“Right. Just in case.” He waved his marked hand in the air. 

“But you can go off if someone’s with you, right?”

“Right.”

“So like, if someone had, um, acquired, a few bottles from the tavern, and didn’t want to be surrounded by soldiers and the smell of horse for a bit…”

Not a bad idea. “There might be a few places out past the walls ideal for such an occasion.”

She grinned. “Great! Where?”

They went out to the abandoned cabin. He drug out the crate of alcohol he’d found the last time he was here to go with what Sera had. 

Few problems couldn’t be solved with intoxication. Boredom, luckily, wasn’t one of those few.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This probably should have been two chapters, but whatever. Sorry it’s a day late, hope y’all like it :D


	15. Rushed and short but I want to get somewhere in the next year

Sera finished her drink and poured herself another. She’d expected something about this plan to go terribly wrong, but it had, so far, gone off without a hitch. 

Sukest’s mark thing (things? Maybe it was the neck ones) kept him from remembering his past, but apparently didn’t work as well when he was drunk. 

He apparently didn’t have a reason to live, so she’d just have to get as many clues as possible from him to find where he came from. 

She’d given Leliana ‘Hemwick’, which was a place, and ‘Gherman’, a name. She’d put the words out through her friends as well. Someone would find something, eventually. 

Two words, however, were not a lot to go on, so they’d gone out to that cabin again. That had been three hours ago. She’d slowed down after the first drink, so she would remember anything he said, but he’d kept on going. 

She did need something before he passed out, though. “So, you still all shook up?”

“Hmm?” He looked over from where he was slouched against the wall by the fireplace. 

“About that guy. The one with the thing.” She made a motion like she was touching a necklace. “The knife necklace thing.”

“The… the badge?”

Nice. “Yeah. That one.”

“Not really. Just confused now, I think.” He slouched forwards. “I mean, he shouldn’t have that, I don’t think.”

“Why not? They not give them to uppity arseholes?” 

He snorted. “No, I’m pretty sure they give ‘em out to those all the time.”

“So what’s the deal?”

“He’s a Templar, right? One of the mage controller guys? Doesn’t seem like much of a Hunter to me.”

“So, what is a hunter? Aside from the guys who go out for deer and all that.”

“So, there really aren’t any Hunters here.” He started off into space for a moment. “Have you ever heard of the Healing Church? Of Yharnam at all?”

The what? “No. A church? And yarn-ham?”

“Yharnam. It’s a city.” He grabbed a new drink, having finished his. “Big place, all stone and metal. The place is a maze, just like the people.”

Yharnam. Something else to look into. A city, at that. Not a name she knew, though. “So, hunters are from Yharnam?” 

“Kind of? Hunters are made there, but they aren’t all born there.”

“So, what makes a hunter?”

“I…” He was quiet. “I don’t know.” 

“Are you a Hunter?”

“I am.”

“So what makes you one? Some kind of training?”

“I don’t think so? I can fight, but I could do that before I became a hunter. Not as well, but I could.” 

“Is it your badge thing?”

“My…? Oh. No, it’s not just that. Like, if you picked up a badge from somewhere, that alone wouldn’t make you a hunter. I didn’t have one for a bit, but I was still a hunter.”

“So, that guy with the badge might not be a hunter?”

“Right. But he has to have gotten it from somewhere.”

“Do you have Hunter buddies you can ask?”

“I can’t.” He furrowed his brow. 

“Why not?”

“They’re gone.”

“What do you mean, ‘gone’? To where?”

“I don’t know. They’ve all disappeared. Eileen, Alfred, even Djura. All gone.” He was silent, then chuckled. “I suppose I’ve disappeared, too.”

They were both quiet. 

Sera glanced over at him after a few minutes. Passed out against the wall, half-holding a mostly empty bottle. The floor around him was littered with empty ones. 

That couldn’t be good for him. Was there a way to do this that didn’t involve getting him hammered?

A question for another night. For now, sleep was sounding better by the second. He was too heavy for her to pick up, but she tipped him over to spare his back. 

She had a few names, for places and people. She could hand the city name to Leliana, but the people would get too many questions. She’d send those out through her people. 

She crawled onto the bed in the little side room, and didn’t wake up until late the next morning. 

Eventually she stumbled back into Haven, towards the tavern. Sukest was already there, face down on a table next to a bowl of something resembling soup. Varric was next to him. 

She climbed onto the bench across from them. Varric looked up. “Late night?”

“You could say that.”

“Well, you sound better off than this guy.” He pokes Sukest in the side, who made a half-hearted attempt to wave him off. “I don’t know where you managed to sneak off to that nobody found out, but next time you decide to have a party, let me know.”

That could be useful, actually. “Maybe.” Someone brought over another bowl of soup. 

After breakfast (lunch, really) she went off to look for Leliana, who she found pouring over reports in her spy tent thing.

“Hey.”

She looked up. “Sera. What brings you here?”

“I’ve got a lead for you.”

“Is this like your last two leads?”

“What do you mean?”

“A place that doesn’t exist and a person who doesn’t seem to be real?”

“Have you not found anything?” Really? 

“I have not. If this is a prank, it isn’t very funny.”

“It’s not, I swear!”

“Then where did you get these leads? Why are they important?”

“I got them from one of my friends, while I was looking for where Sukest came from.” Not technically a lie. He was a friend. 

Leliana looked surprised, though still suspicious. “Directly, or was this from a friend of a friend? Can we bring in whoever has this information?”

Uhhh. “Friend of a friend. Anonymous tip, but I heard it from a good source. Looking into where it came from, too.”

“Hmm.” She still looked skeptical. “Very well. You said you have another lead?”

“A place. A city, I think. Yharnam.”

“Yharnam? It’s not a name I’ve heard before. Do you have a country? A general area?”

“No, but I’m working on that. I’ll let you know if I learn anything else.” She’d keep the other names to herself for now. See what her friends could turn up. 

They hadn’t turned up anything so far, but that could change. 

Alfred was too common a name to be of much help, but Eileen and Djura weren’t. She sent those out later that day, once Leliana had gone back to her papers. 

All she could do now was wait. That and travel to the coast, because apparently that was something they were doing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Late again, whoops. 
> 
> Sorry for any spelling errors, and for anywhere autocorrect has changed what I’ve written. I don’t always catch that. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, hope y’all liked it :D


	16. Hey look it’s ~progress~

Drinking was awful and he was never doing it again. 

No, that was a lie. He was definitely going to do it again, but he’d wait a few days at least. Healing blood could help many things, but hangovers weren’t one. 

He’d spent most of the day after drinking with Sera in the tavern, and then in his room once the sun started setting. 

Now, a day later, they were set to leave the next morning for the coast. 

He didn’t have a hand in the preparation, but he should still probably check in to see if anything important had come up. 

He went up to the chantry, only to find an unfamiliar man in plate by the door who turned to face him as he approached. 

“Excuse me, I’ve got a message for the Inquisition, but I’m having a hard time getting anyone to talk to me.”

A message? “Who are you?”

“Cremisius Aclassi, with the Bull’s Chargers mercenary company. We mostly work out of Orlais and Nevarra. We got word of some Tevinter mercenaries gathering out on the Storm Coast. My company commander, Iron Bull, offers the information free of charge. If you’d like to see what the Bull’s Chargers can do for the Inquisition, meet us there and watch us work.”

A mercenary company? He probably shouldn’t be the one to decide this, but it did sound useful. “We’ve been looking for something like this. Come on, let’s set this up.”

He led the man over to where Leliana was set up. Luckily, she was just wrapping up on something, and looked up as they approached. 

“Oh? Who’s this?”

“Cremisius Aclassi, here with an offer for us.”

“Is that so?” 

“It is.” The man in question bowed. “I’m here on behalf of the Bull’s Chargers. My company commander, the Iron Bull, has an offer for the Inquisition.”

“Hmm. Very well.” She turned to Sukest. “If you would let the others know I’ll be a few minutes late…” She trailed off. 

“Of course.” He set off for the chantry. 

He passed the message to Cullen, who he met on the way in, before Solas called him aside, to where he was standing with Vivienne. 

“Solas. Vivienne. What can I do for you?” 

“We wanted to ask you a few questions about the mark.” Solas leaned back against the wall. “You did recently vanish for a day.”

Right. Not that it was mark related, but he couldn’t exactly tell them that. “That’s true. Anything in particular you want to know?”

“Has it acted up recently?” 

“No more than the odd spark, which it’s done since I’ve gotten it.”

“Does it do this often?” Vivienne looked vaguely concerned, but remained unruffled. 

“Not really, no. I don’t usually notice when it does. As far as I can tell it’s just the light.” The little sparks didn’t hurt or tug, they just lit up from time to time.

“Did it behave oddly the day you vanished?” 

“Not particularly, no. Didn’t start flashing or anything.”

Vivienne hesitated. “And the others?”

Hmm? Oh. “Nothing unusual from them. Mark didn’t irritate them until I reappeared.”

Leliana appeared in the doorway, and waved them towards the war room. 

Solas straightened. “Seems we’ve somewhere to be. Shall we continue afterwards?”

“Works for me.”

He left Vivienne and Solas to their discussion and went towards the conference room. 

Cassandra, Cullen, and Josephine were already there, and Leliana had just arrived. 

“Well.” She looked around. “Shall we begin?” 

Cullen nodded. “We’re set to move out tomorrow for the northern coast. Our scouts there are low on supplies and are also having trouble with the nearby rifts.”

“Supplies aside,” Josephine lowered her clipboard, “our main objective is to close the nearby rifts. Our scouts in the Hinterlands have not yet secured a path Redcliffe, but we’re hoping for a breakthrough before you get back.”

“We do have one more thing to look into.” Leliana moved up to the table from where she was leaning against the wall. “We’ve gained a proposition from a renowned mercenary company. They have offered their services, and are willing to provide a demonstration.”

“A demonstration?” Cullen raised an eyebrow. “What are they going to do, fight a dragon?”

The Hunter’s ears perked up. Dragons? He hadn’t considered that. This place was a fairytale, Cullen might not be kidding. 

Leliana muffled a laugh behind her hand. “We do have reports of a dragon in the area, but they’ve a different plan. First, a free lead on Tevinter activity. Second, a sort of test.” She turned to the Hunter. “You’ll be there for roughly a week, depending on how things go. If the first test goes well, the company will assist our efforts there for the remainder of the week. If their performance is satisfactory, we may hire them permanently.”

“Understood.” He nodded, then paused. “So, there’s a dragon?”

“So our reports say. It’s been seen at a distance, to the north-west.”

“We aren’t going to the coast to fight a dragon.” Cassandra crossed her arms. “With or without a band of soldiers.”

“They’re real? Dragons, I mean.”

The others looked surprised. “Right.” Cullen cleared his throat. “Yes, they’re real. Cassandra here comes from a line of dragon hunters, in fact.”

“Ugh.”

He couldn’t tell if Cullen was joking or not. It must have shown. 

“The Pentaghasts are famous for being legendary dragon hunters.” Leliana grinned.

He glanced at Cassandra, who met his gaze. “No. We are not going dragon hunting.”

“But if it happens to be nearby, just by chance…” 

“Our primary objective is to close the rifts.” Cullen was struggling to keep a straight face. “And to help our soldiers from nearby threats. If a threat happens to land near a camp…”

“Ugh. If there is no other option, we will defend the scouts. But we will not,” Cassandra made direct eye contact with the Hunter, “under any circumstances, seek out or lure or provoke the dragon.”

“Right. Of course.”

Leliana’s legendary straight-face was slipping. “If there are no questions, we’re finished. The caravan will leave tomorrow, mid-morning.”

No one had any questions, so they dispersed. He ran into Sera just outside the room. 

“Hey, you! How ya feeling?”

“I’m doing alright, thanks.”

“Sera, if I might have a word.” Cassandra approached. “There is something we need to discuss.” She didn’t look too happy. 

Sera paled slightly. So she knew what this was about. He’d have to ask later. 

“Right. I’ve gotta go meet with the mages. We’ll chat later?” 

“Sure thing.” Sera nodded. 

The Hunter found the pair of mages in one of the side rooms. 

“Perfect timing, dear.” Vivienne gestured to a chair. “Have a seat.”

He did, and Solas approached. “If I may?” 

The Hunter extended the marked hand. 

 

~~~~~~~ Now We’re Someone Else ~~~~~~~

 

Cassandra led Sera out of the chantry, to a spot between the buildings of the village that offered a bit of privacy without being entirely closed off. The point was to speak with Sera, not frighten her. 

“Alright, so, what’s this about?” 

“You already know, I think.”

Sera didn’t say anything. 

“Some time ago, Sukest remembered something, but to my knowledge, this has not been brought to light. You asked me not to say anything, and I have not, but I would like some answers.”

Sera nodded, looking resigned. “Alright, yeah. That’s fair.”

Well. She’d expected more resistance. “So what, exactly, is going on?”

Sera glanced around to make sure no one was listening too closely. “So, he remembers, sometimes. Parts, at least, about where he came from.”

“And you have kept this a secret because…?”

Sera winced. “Well, he um. Doesn’t exactly know about it.”

“How could be not know about it?” 

“You see, the only times I’ve gotten anything from him is when he’s really, really, drunk.”

“... you’re joking.”

“I’m not, I swear it!”

Cassandra sat down on a nearby pile of boxes. If she wasn’t there the first time it happened, she wouldn’t believe it. “So, why have you said nothing? You don’t think he might want to know where he came from? Find his home?”

“No. Not now, at least.” Sera seemed surprisingly sincere about this. “Seems a bit far-fetched, doesn’t it? Only getting memories while drunk? I don’t think a lot of people would believe that. That, and you’ve seen the marks on his neck too, right? Can’t image anywhere that does that is decent.”

The brands were concerning, she’d admit. “But is that reason enough?” 

“I’ve got more. I’ve been talking to him, trying to find where he’s talking about, before I tell him.”

“So, this is where he goes on the evenings before he comes back looking like death warmed over?” It was good to know he had some kind of supervision, at least. The last thing they needed was for him to disappear again. 

Sera winced. “Yeah. I need to find a better way to do this. He can drink a lot, can’t be good for him. That, and the village is gonna run out of good drinks.”

“So, if you’ve been talking to him, what have you found?”

“So, you remember that first time, when he was talking about badges?” 

“Yes.”

“He gave a name and a place, ‘Gherman’ and ‘Hemwick’. I gave those to Leliana, said I’d gotten them from my friends. She hasn’t found anything yet.”

Cassandra raised an eyebrow. “Nothing?” 

“Nothing. Accused me of pulling the names from nowhere to give her a run. So, I got more from him.”

“Oh?” She leaned forwards. 

“So, he’s from a city, some place called Yharnam. Said he had friends there, gave a few names, but…”

“But?”

“He said they were gone, that they’d disappeared. I’d figured he meant they were dead, but then he said he’d disappeared too, now. Gotta wonder, if the reasons are linked. He said they were all Hunters, him included, but didn’t say what they were hunting, and something tells me it isn’t normal game. But if they’ve all vanished, and then he did, I doubt it’s coincidence.”

“So, you think these ‘Hunters’ wanted him gone?” 

“Maybe. I mean, if a place is going to brand you and teach you to fight like… well, like him, it's probably not too much trouble to make a few people disappear.”

That was… a bit of a reach, but it did make some amount of sense. “Even so, why keep it a secret from him? Shouldn’t he know? It’s his life.”

“Yeah, I just…” She trailed off. 

“Just what?”

“So, we were talking the other day, about the Breach.” She was much quieter, now. “He told me he didn’t care if closing it killed him. ‘As long as it’s done’, he said. If that’s leftover from wherever he came from, some kind of ‘mission before your life’ thing, I want it gone before he knows. In case he tries to go back.”

There weren’t a lot of responses to that, and there were even fewer good ones. “I… I understand.” That explained a lot about him, actually. 

Sera looked up. “Really?”

“Does that surprise you?” 

“In a good way, I swear.”

“I do still think we should tell someone.”

“Who? Leliana would get him sloshed and grill him, and the mages might do the same.”

She sighed. “A fair point.” They stood in silence for a few minutes. “You said he gave you more names? From his past?”

Sera startled. “Yeah, he did. A city, Yharnam, to start with. Gave it to Leliana already, said it was from a friend. Not really I lie.”

“No, I suppose it’s not. Any others?”

“A few people, the vanished friends of his. Alfred, Eileen, and Djura.”

“Hmm.” She sighed. “It seems dishonest, not to tell him, but I know why you have not. With that said, try to limit this to when you’re here, at Haven. You are coming to the Storm Coast, are you not?”

“I am. Varric said he was buried in paperwork, asked me to go in his place in case you need someone with arrows.”

She stood. “Then you’d best prepare. It’s past noon, and we leave in the morning.”

“So, are you…”

“I won’t tell anyone about what you’ve told me.” She hoped she wouldn’t regret it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y’all liked it, it’s been fun to write :D


	17. Hey look its some ~rain~

The Hunter was starting to understand why this place was nicknamed the Storm Coast. They were around an hour away from their destination and everything was already soaked. 

The rain had started that morning, and had only gotten heavier. The storm showed no signs of letting up, but neither did the rifts, so they’d just have to get wet.

His outer cloak was sodden, cloth feathers clumped together, heavy enough now for the ends to brush the ground as he walked.

“Don’t those come off?” Sera poked her head out from under the coverings on one of the wagons. “It’s cold and all, but I don’t think it’s getting you any warmer like that.”

“It’s easier to wear them than it is to carry them. I’ll find somewhere to dry it when we get there.” Meaning he’d just tuck them away with the rest of his supplies when no one was watching. 

“Suit yourself, I guess.”

“When did you get up there?” The wagons were piled high, with hardly any room between them and the top. Sera had somehow managed to wedge herself into that little gap. 

“When we stopped a while back to try and figure out how to get everything down that hill without it falling over.”

“Have you been up there this whole time? That was hours ago.”

She shrugged, as much as she could in her current position. “It’s dry, and laying on boxes is better than walking in the rain.”

It hardly looked comfortable, but then, neither was wet leather. At least his fit better than some of the soldiers. Shoes a half-size off were hell to march in. 

“We’re close though, right?”

“One of the scouts said we’re only an hour or so out from the camp.”

“Nice.” She looked up. “Doesn’t seem like this’ll clear up, though.”

“I doubt it will. In a few days, maybe.”

She made a face. “Remind me why I volunteered to come?”

“You were bored enough in Haven to go mad and wanted a change in scenery?”

“Sounds about right.”

It took an hour and a half to reach the camp. Wagon wheels and sliding paths were a bad mix, but a few small delays aside they managed to avoid disaster. 

They were met briefly by scout Harding, who welcomed them to the coast before moving to help distribute the new supplies. 

They had a few tents set aside for the new arrivals, and he ducked into the one Harding had pointed him towards. He stepped out again briefly to wring out his cloak before hanging it off one of the supports. 

It wasn’t nearly as cold here as it was in Haven. Most of the chill came from the rain, which left everything damp and cool. Now he knew why the reports Leliana had were written on sturdier paper. The normal stuff would have just fallen apart. 

It was only mid-afternoon, so he went out to explore the camp. They were due to meet with those mercenaries in not too long, and he wanted a chance to look around first. 

The camp itself was tucked away against the side of a cliff, shielded from the worst of the wind and rain. Looking out across the hill, he could see where the land slopes down, presumably towards the beach. 

He was glad now that his armor was decent at keeping out the rain. The leather and fabrics were waxed, aside from the cloak, to repel most of the water. The hood was water-proofed as well, and the mask could help keep the rain out of his eyes, though it usually startled the scouts and soldiers. 

He left it off for now, but carried it with him. He’d rather not have to deal with rain in his eyes while he was fighting. He re-applied the wax on his armor,covering any worn patches, before he set out into the camp. 

He found Harding in one of the larger command tents. She grinned as he approached. “It’s good to see you, sir! How are you liking the storm coast?”

“It’s very… damp. Is it like this all year?” 

She laughed. “No. Believe it or not, we had clear skies a few days ago. Hopefully this lets up in a couple of days. Some rifts have been sighted down by the water, and the rocks can be dangerous if the sea kicks up too much.”

“Are there’s many of them? The rifts, I mean.”

“Only a few we’ve seen so far, though we haven’t made much progress. As you probably saw on the way here, most of this place is hills and cliffs. Finding safe paths is difficult, especially in the rain.”

He nodded. He had more experience with snow than rain, but it seemed similar so far. “Rifts and weather aside, how are things going? I’ve heard there’s a dragon?”

She laughed. “We’ve avoided a confrontation so far, but a few of our scouts have reported seeing it flying out over the ocean, and further down along the coast.”

He was pretty sure Cassandra would actually kill him if he went out looking for it. “Anything else I should know about?”

“There’s a group of bandits in the area, call themselves the Blades of Hessarian. We’ve clashed with them a few times. Sent out a group to negotiate with them, but they haven’t returned.”

“Where were they going to meet?” 

She led him over to the entrance, and pointed out at a distant hill. “Over that hill, there’s a path up a cliff. They were going to meet just on the other side.”

“When did they go?” 

“Yesterday. Hopefully they’re just delayed by the weather, but…”

But it wasn’t likely. “I’ll keep an eye out while we’re over there. There are a few rifts out past the cliff, right?”

She nodded, and led him back to the map in the tent. 

A short while later, Solas arrived, in what looked to be a thick cloak with a hide over one shoulder, Cassandra came soon after, then Sera. 

“How have you managed to stay so dry?” Sera’s clothes were not particularly water-proof. 

None of theirs were, really. Looking closer, Solas had cast a spell on his that almost looked like wax, but the cloak was only cloth. Harding’s leathers were oiled to keep the mildew away, as were Cassandra’s, but neither were waxed. 

“Do you not waterproof your armor?” He hadn’t until he’d gotten to Yharnam and spent a good few miserable hours in the sewers. The messengers had brought him a case of it, and Gherman had shown him how to apply it. Did this place not have it at all?

Harding looked closer at his armor. 

He frowned. “Do you not?” 

Apparently they did not. 

“How did you manage this?” Harding looked actually confused, but as if she’d just seen something wonderful. “Is it the kind of leather? Some kind of treatment?”

“I don’t think so. Just wax.”

“Wax?” Sera raised an eyebrow. “Like, from bee hives?”

“No- well, kind of.” He pulled the tin out of his jacket. Shit, did this place even have tins? All he’d seen were jars. He handed it to Harding, who looked skeptical, but still interested. “Do you not use this?”

Sera and Cassandra shared a look, then looked to Harding, who’d opened the tin. “Where did you get this?”

“I had it with me when I woke up. Found it in one of my pockets later,” he added at the look Cassandra gave him. It was a small tin, they could have missed it the first time they searched him. 

Luckily for him, the tin was nondescript, just a short, dark circle. The brand name and details had long worn away, leaving only a few smudged characters, barely visible.

“I can show you how to use it, if you want.” 

“When you get back.” Harding put the lid back on and handed it back to him. “For now, you have a meeting with that mercenary company.”

Right. He’d almost forgotten. “The Bull’s Chargers, right?”

“Right. Come back here afterwards, I want to see if your wax works.”

They set out down the hill, towards the water. He had smelled the salt as they approached the camp, but here it was strong. He slid his mask on once they were further from the camp. The wind was stronger down closer to the water. 

He’d have to be careful with his weapons. He’d only seen the sea once before, but he’d learned that salt water and metal didn’t mix well. 

The walk was quiet for the first fifteen minute or so, before Sera broke the silence. “Does it work?”

“Hmm?”

“Your wax. Does it really keep the water out?” 

“It does.”

“Huh.”

The Chargers, it turned out, weren’t a huge group, but they did their job well. They arrived just in time to see them cut down a large group of soldiers in foreign armor. Tevinter, Cremisius had said. The mage country? 

The Chargers were outnumbered, but this didn’t seem to matter much. They cut down the soldiers rather quickly, then set about tidying up. 

What stood out most, though, was the man who seemed to be in charge. Easily the tallest one here, shirtless, with grey skin and large horns. 

Well. This was a surprise. The man approached. “You must be the Herald, then.” He held out his hand. 

The Hunter took it. “Please, call me Sukest. And you are…?”

“The Iron Bull, of the Bull’s Chargers. These here,” he gestured to the mercenaries, “are my men. C’mon, let’s chat.”

He led them back to his camp, a decently sized area, where a few men were already celebrating. 

The man from Haven, Cremisius, was there too. “Already finished your sweep?” 

“We did.”

“Check again. Don’t want any of those Tevinter bastards getting away. No offense, Krem.”

“None taken, chief. At least a bastard knows who his mother is. Puts us up one on you qunari, yeah?” 

A relaxed company. Things did tend to run a bit smoother if you could joke with your boss. 

So Cremisius, or Krem, was from Tevinter, which explained the accent, and the Iron Bull was a Qunari. He’d heard about those, if only briefly. 

They stood for a few moments. The Iron Bull glanced at him with a raised eyebrow. Oh. Right. This would probably be easier without his face covered. 

He slid his mask off. “I have to say, your men are skilled in combat.”

The man grinned. “Couldn’t have asked for anyone better. I’ve already been contacted by your ambassador, heard her arrangement.”

“What do you think?” 

“I’d say it’s a good idea. Just wanted to meet you before anything was set for good. I like to know who I’m working for before I sign myself up.”

“Of course. I think I might be a little more worried if you didn’t.”

“So, now that I’ve met you, what do you think?”

“I think the your Chargers would be a worthy addition to the Inquisition.”

“You should know, you don’t just get the Chargers, you get me.”

“What do you mean?” 

“First, as a front-line bodyguard, a fighter. Demons, dragons, doesn’t matter what it is. The bigger, the better. You need someone’s ass kicked, you’ve got me. Next thing might be useful, might piss you off. You know about the Qun?”

“Some. Not very much, I’m afraid.”

“S’alright. Ever heard of the Ben-Hassrath?”

“I can’t say I have.”

“A qunari order. They handle information, loyalty, security, all of it. Spies, basically. Or, well, we’re spies. The Ben-Hassrath are concerned about the Breach. That much magic spiraling out of control could be really, really bad. I’ve been ordered to come here, approach the inquisition, get close to the people at the top, and report back on what I learn. However, I also get reports from other Ben-Hassrath. You will receive these reports, and your spymaster will of course be able to read through my reports before I send them out.”

“Admittedly, the fact you’ve said this up front has me wondering. You don’t seem like a normal group of spies to me, or is this just you?”

He laughed. “Well, we aren’t exactly spies, it’s just a close comparison. We keep things running smoothly in the Qun. When something goes wrong, we fix it. We deal with the crimes under the Qun. We watch people, to find problems or to prevent them from happening to begin with, if we can, from others or from within our own ranks.”

That he could understand. Not too dissimilar from his role. Hush the ones that get too noisy, who no longer follow orders, who are too far gone. 

He should learn more about the Qun. When he got back to Haven he’d have to ask Varric. 

Solas didn’t like them, he knew already. This was a good opportunity, though. “I think that’s something we can work with.”

The Iron Bull grinned. “Glad to hear it. As I’ve heard, you’re here for a week, and that serves as my test run, right?”

“Right. Starting tomorrow, I think.” It was already getting dark, and the raid wasn’t helping with visibility.

“Tomorrow, then.”

It took the better part of an hour to slog back to their camp, and it was dark by the time they arrived. 

Harding was waiting for them in the command tent. “How did it go?”

“It went well, I think. The real test begins tomorrow, though.”

“That’s true. How did your wax work out?”

He’d nearly forgotten. His mask had kept his hair and face dry well enough. He unlaced one of his bracers. The shirt underneath was still dry. 

Harding gave a low whistle. “Alright. Well. I think I might take you up on your offer for some of that.” She glanced outside. “In the morning, though.”

“Sounds good to me.”

He slipped through the camp back to his tent. He shared it with Solas, who was already there. 

His cloak, he was pleased to find, had dried considerably. Not yet all the way through, but more than he had expected. He shifted some of the feathers to let the air reach the inner sections. It would be pointless to wear it in rain this heavy, but he didn’t want it to mildew. 

He glanced over at Solas, who was already asleep. No, it would be too risky to just stow it with the rest of his things. Someone would notice its absence. 

He let his hand drop with a sigh. If he was lucky, the rain would let up in a few days. It was odd not to wear it, and he didn’t like just leaving it here. 

Nothing to be done for it, though. He glanced over his Saif and Evelyn. He hadn’t used them, but the sea air could damage them if he didn’t keep them in good condition. 

For now, though, they seemed fine. He laid the Saif down and slid the gun back into its holster. The rain was still falling hard. This was not a night for exploration. Sleep, then. Nothing left to do but wait for sunrise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look, we're somewhere new now :D


	18. The chapter I almost forgot to name

The Hunter woke early the next morning. It was hardly dawn, but Solas was already gone, and he could hear the camp in motion over the sound of the rain. 

He moved to the tent’s opening and peered out. The rain had let up some, though it looked a long way from stopping completely. 

He pulled his (mostly dry) cloak down from the support. It wasn’t raining heavily enough to soak it, as long as he didn’t go rolling in puddles. 

Harding and Solas were already in the command tent, going over the plans for the day. There was a rift not too far west of the camp, and another past that. 

For today, dealing with the closer rift and investigating the missing scouts were the main objectives. Whether or not they got both done would depend on the weather. 

As promised, he showed Harding how to apply the wax to cloth and leather, and also gave the knowledge that it wasn’t just wax, but had a mix of oils in it. 

“So you just rub this on the cloth?”

“Kind of? Your tents are water-proofed, is it not a similar process?”

“The tents are treated in oil, but they’re already made of water-resistant materials. Does this work on all types of cloth?”

“I can’t say I know. I mostly use it for leather.”

Harding skimmed a bit off the top. “For the alchemists,” she explained. “If we can get more of this, it could go a long way towards helping our soldiers in the wetter parts of the country.”

Sera darted through the entrance to the tent, in actual armor this time instead of just clothes. Cassandra followed close behind. 

The Iron Bull arrived just as they were finalizing their plans. “Already got a plan for the day?” He had to duck under the overhang to avoid catching it on his horns. 

“A nearby rift, just a bit too close to the camp to leave it any longer, and a few scouts who have gone missing.”

“Lead the way, boss.”

The way, it turned out, was short, but the going was slow. The rain had let up some, but the rocks were still slippery, and their path led them across the waterfront. 

The Hunter walked as far from the sea as he could without it being too obvious. He did not have fond memories of salt water, not after the whaling village he’d had to slog through. 

If the others noticed, they didn’t say anything. His mask kept out the sea spray and the worst of the smell, and it also hid his face, which he was glad for. He’d never been terribly good at masking his emotions.

Conversation was kept to a minimum, an occasional “watch your step, there’s a gap there” or a muffled curse when someone didn’t see the gap in time. No one had fallen yet, but there had been a few slips. 

The relative peace was broken around an hour in by a loud, echoing roar. The Hunter stopped. “What was that?” 

Solas planted the end of his staff into a crack between the rocks. “I’d say that was the dragon our scouts warned us of.”

The Iron Bull had his eye (the other was covered by a patch) on the sky. “It sounds a ways off, but it’s hard to tell.”

The Hunter glanced inlands, at the cliffs. “Should we move a bit closer to cover? Those scouts were meant to be somewhere nearby.”

They found a narrow, winding cliff path leading up. A small, worn sign warned of falling rocks. Sera took the lead, being the lightest, followed by the Hunter, then Solas, then the two warriors. 

The top had a few small, abandoned shacks, parts of the walls and roofs long rotted away. One had a few pieces of broken furniture, some boxes and shelves, what might have been a bed once. The other had the corpses of their missing scouts. 

“Well. That certainly solves that.” He crouched down next to one of them. “They’ve been dead for a day already. Yesterday morning, maybe?” The rain blotted out details, made determining exact times difficult. 

Sera crept up next to him, but kept her distance from the body. She wrinked her nose. “Eugh, it stinks. Does this not bother you at all?”

“The mask helps.”

Solas lifted a paper off a nearby table. It was in good condition, recently placed there. “From the Blades of Hessarian.”

“The bandits scout Harding warned us about?”

Cassandra snorted. “They claim to serve the Maker, but this is not His work.”

“A religious group?”

“Named for the Blade of Mercy, the blade used to take Andraste’s life. They claim to bring judgement on the weak and corrupt.”

Solas handed him the paper. “An invitation, addressed to you. A challenge from their leader.”

He skimmed the paper. “So, if I defeat their leader, I become the new one?”

“So it would seem.”

He folded the paper and slid it into one of his inner pockets to protect it from the rain. “It’s worth looking into, at least.”

Another loud roar rang out over the rocks, from the sea. The Hunter turned towards it. It was closer, now. Not on top of them, but it was nearby. He stepped out of the large hole in the wall and crept towards to cliff. 

Out above the water, to the west, a dragon was circling the rocks on the far side of the shore. 

The Iron Bull let out a low whistle. “Beautiful. Ever seen a dragon before?”

It took him a moment to reply. “I can’t say I have.” Even from a distance, it was breathtaking. 

“Isn’t the rift we’re after that way?”

“I suppose it is.” It would be a difficult fight. The only lamp he’d found was all the way back in Haven. Well, Cassandra was apparently a dragon hunter. Maybe they could take it. 

It was like she read his mind. “We are not here to fight the dragon.”

“It could be a threat to the soldiers. We’re here to protect them, right?”

The Iron Bull laughed, loudly and deeply. Cassandra glared at him. 

The dragon landed on the far side of the distant hill, out of sight. 

“I don’t believe the rift is that far west.” Solas gestured towards the rocks further south, by the water. “We may avoid it altogether.”

He was right, of course, but there was a Dragon here. The Hunter sighed. “We should go, then, before it decides to come over here.”

The path down went much faster than the climb up. The slope was too steep to walk up, but no let a sheer drop. The Hunter slid down it, trailing a hand on the rock behind him for balance. 

He looked back up the cliff. “Are you coming?”

Sera leaned over the edge. “Have you gone mad? Just slide down a cliff?”

“Well, you could go down the way we came and find a way around, I suppose.”

The Iron Bull slid next, and though he stumbled at the bottom, he kept his footing.

The Hunter grinned up at the rest. “See? Perfectly safe. And so much faster.”

The others decided to search for a safer path down. Heavy armor and cliffs didn’t mix, and Sera looked like she’d rather go back to camp than jump off a cliff. 

“So, rumor has it you don’t remember your past.”

He turned to the Iron Bull. “I don’t.”

“Why reveal it so casually?”

“I don’t know enough about the world to convincingly pretend otherwise. I can fight, and I know the language, but that’s about it.”

“That’s all? Nothing about your people? You’re Dalish, aren’t you?”

“So I’m told. I hardly know what that means, though. The Dalish live in forests and travel with wagons, or so I’m told. I’ve been mostly on a mountain or fighting demons.”

“Well, you’re taking the hole in the sky rather well, all things considered.”

“The amnesia helps, I think.”

“How do you figure?”

“I don’t know what the world looked like before it happened. I have no times of peace to compare this to. The world is ending to everyone else, but this is all I can remember. It’s baseline normal for me.”

“Huh. That makes some sense, I guess.”

There was a dull thud a ways down the beach, and he could faintly hear swearing. “That’s our cue, I think.”

The rift wasn’t too much further. It only took about fifteen minutes of brisk walking to reach it, and it was dormant when they arrived. 

“Shame we have to break it open to close it.”

“Do you?”

“Unfortunately.”

He pushed his hand at the rift, which hummed and burst in response to the mark’s sparking. The set of demons was fairly standard, just shades, wraiths, and terrors. He extended the Saif and dashed forwards. 

The first Terror didn’t even get the chance to howl before he clicked his Saif open and decapitated it, then spun around to face a shade. Not too many demons this time. Good. 

In all, the fight went well. The first wave of demons went down quickly between them, though the second took them a bit by surprise. A few managed lucky hits, but a few scrapes aside they likely wouldn’t do more than bruise. He sealed the rift rather quickly and looked around. 

Solas was off next to Cassandra, likely checking for injuries. Sera had managed to climb atop a small tower of stones, out of reach of most of the demons.

He approached the base. “You alright up there?”

“Yeah.” She sounded shaken. Was she injured?

“Are you sure? Should I come up there?”

“Nah, just…” She paused. “Demons. Not what I thought.”

Had she never seen them before? 

The Iron Bull sighed and looked up. “First time is always rough. You gonna pull through or should we start on the funeral?”

“What?” She pokes her head out over the edge of the tower.

The Hunter snorted. “Are you gonna be alright?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine, I just… wasn’t really expecting it to be. Well. Like that.”

“It happens. Though, speaking of fighting, I’ve gotta ask.” He looked to the Hunter. “Where in the world did you learn to do that?”

Right. “Fair question. I don’t think you’re gonna like my answer though.”

He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “Don’t remember, huh?”

“You got it.”

Sera slid down the pillar. “So, now what?”

Solas glanced at the sky. “The second rift is a bit far to get there and back today.”

“So we report back to camp, and follow up on the Blades?” 

No one had any objections, so they made their way back to the camp. The Hunter slid his mask off as they got close. No point in spooking the troops when he’d be back under a tent soon enough.

Harding was glad to see them back, and had them back at the command tent once they’d dried off a bit. The Hunter, being the only one who stayed reasonably dry, was a bit early, and gave her the letter from the Blades. 

She read it slowly, then read it a second time before she sighed and set it on the table. “So those scouts?”

“I’m afraid they aren’t coming back.”

“Right. It was a long shot anyways. Have you decided if you’re going to do it? Challenge their leader?”

“I’d like to, if only for the scouts we lost. Someone should answer for that.”

“The letter mentions an amulet, the Crest of Mercy. Made of deepstalker hide and a special kind of stone.”

“And a deepstalker is…”

“It’s a little lizard kind of thing. About two feet tall, sharp teeth, walks on two legs. Ferocious little things. Should be a few in the nearby caves.”

“And the stone?”

“Serpentstone. Also common around here. We could get the materials for it by tomorrow, if you’d like.”

“I would appreciate it, thank you.”

“How did the rift go?”

“Smoothly. No major injuries, just a few scrapes, closed without a problem.”

“Something tells me those scrapes weren’t on you.”

“They weren’t. Bull and Cassandra were the ones getting up close.”

“Isn’t your blade close-range?”

“Yeah, but it’s hard to hit someone who doesn’t stop moving.”

“One of these days I need you to show me how you jump around like that without tripping on anything.”

“I’ll let you know as soon as I figure it out.”

Sera walked into the tent, back in her usually clothes. They were dry, unlike her armor, though her hair was still wet. “Hey, can I use some of that wax stuff next time we go out? Gotta say, not really a fan of squeaky wet leather.”

“Sure. Won’t be as effective with yours as with mine, though.”

“Why not?”

“Your set has open joints and gaps for mobility, and leaves part of you open to the air. Mine has cloth over the joints, and doesn’t show any skin. No place for the water to get in.”

She sighed. “Still. Something’s better than nothing.”

“That it is. I’ll help you with it later tonight.” He glanced at Harding. “I can do yours as well, if you’d like.”

“I’d appreciate it.”

It took a little while before anyone else showed up, so he started showing Harding how to apply it. Sera’s armor would have to finish drying before he could start on it. 

After a while, Solas came in. “Aside from a few bruises, we’ve managed to avoid injury.” He glanced at the Hunter. “Though, perhaps avoid sliding down cliffs. There are safer ways to navigate the coast.”

He shrugged from his spot on the floor, where he was carefully pulling apart joints in the leather with Harding’s instruction. “If you say so.”

The Iron Bull ducked into the tent. “Got anything else planned for the day or…?”

“Not really.” He lifted up his tin. “Waterproofing.”

Bull knelt down to look at it. “Wax?”

“Keeps the water out. I’m not really a fan of fighting in wet clothes.”

“Huh. We’ve got something similar, but it’s more of an oil. Don’t suppose you remember where you got that?”

“Afraid not. I had it with me when I woke up at Haven.”

He stood. “How did that work, exactly? Did you just wake up one morning with a glowing hand and no memory?”

“Hah. No, the scouts say I fell out of the fade, near the Breach. Had my mask on, they almost mistook me for a demon. I was unconscious for a few days, and woke up to the world falling apart.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that. I have what I woke up with, but that’s about it.” He finished the shoulder piece he was working on and stood to stretch. “Can’t complain, really. It’s been alright so far.”

“You looking into where you came from?”

“We’ve got a few leads to investigate, but nothing’s come of it. The hole in the sky takes priority. Not really worth looking for home if it’s about to be destroyed anyways.” 

“Makes sense, I guess.”

It was hardly evening, but with the weather, no one really wanted to go out. The Iron Bull went back to the Chargers for the night, to “make sure they stay in line”, and the Hunter decided to bed down early. He had his books from Val Royeaux, and did some reading before he went to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gotta have some way to keep dry in the forbidden woods, yeah?  
> Once a blue moon I actually go back and read all y’alls comments. Thank you so much for all your support, I never expected this to get nearly so much attention :O  
> Thank you so much for reading, I hope y’all liked it.


	19. A bit more of the coast

They had the Crest of Mercy ready for the Hunter the next morning, as Harding had said. Their only objective for the day was to deal with the Blades of Mercy. The rain had picked up in the night, and showed no signs of slowing again. 

The group carefully picked their way along the shore towards where their scouts said they’d find the camp. The salt-worn rocks were slick, and the last thing they needed was someone falling off a cliff or into the sea. 

It was a long, but thankfully peaceful walk. Even the dragon seemed lulled by the coming storm. After a while, some conversation picked up to fill the silence. 

“So, what exactly is the plan?” Sera was back in her normal clothes. Her leather set wasn’t adjusted quite right, and was still damp from yesterday. If things went even halfway according to plan, she shouldn’t need it. 

“I’m going to challenge their leader, one on one.”

She snorted. “So, what are you gonna do with the group?”

“I figure Leliana will have some use for them. At the very least, they know the area better than our scouts do. If there’s anything we’ve missed, they can fill us in.”

“You seem awfully confident. Not worried at all?” Bull raised his eyebrows.

“Either I win and have the Blades, or I lose and don’t have to worry about it. No point in getting worked up over it.” He’d just have to worry about Leliana when he reappeared in Haven. 

“That’s one way to see it, I suppose.” Solas was using his staff as a walking stick. Handy. Did Mages have long staves for magic purposes or just for this?

Sera looked like she’d swallowed something sour, but didn’t say anything. Right, she wasn’t really a fan of gallows humor. That, or she’d gotten a face full of sea spray. The wind had picked up considerably since they’d left the camp. 

Half an hour later had them approaching the gates. The Hunter had the Crest set over his armor, clearly visible. 

The men at the gates looked uncertain as they approached, but after muttering between themselves for a few moments they opened the gates. 

The camp itself wasn’t huge, but it was well built. Sturdy walls, solid housing, a stable, and several dog cages. Mabari, Varric had told him. Fereldan war hounds. 

Their leader stood on a small wooden platform, a caged hound on either side. The Blades has started gathering, to see what was going on. Most of them clearly recognized the Crest. 

“A challenger?” The leader was a big man, in heavier armor, carrying a maul. “Do you think you can defeat me?”

The Hunter, still wearing his mask, stepped forwards, away from his companions. “It’s what I’m here to find out.” He changed his stance slightly, to let his cloak open behind him. He knew from watching Eileen that it made for an unnerving silhouette. 

This didn’t pass the leader by. He straightened and held up his hammer. “There seems little point in standing on ceremony.”

The Blades had gathered into a loose ring, leaving enough space for the fight, but clearly forming a sort of wall. The Hunter stepped forwards into it. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?” 

He drew the Saif and clicked it open. The leader held his hammer in a fighting stance. “Let’s.”

The hound cages flew open, the dogs rushing forwards. Of course. Dogs apparently didn’t count as opponents in a one on one duel. 

He stepped to the side and drew the tip of the blade along the first as it leapt past, splitting it open even through the dyed leather it wore. The corpse landed at the feet of the nearest Blades, who scrambled backwards. 

The second dog circled as the Hunter leapt forwards, the leader rushing up to meet him. He slid low, around a blow that could have shattered his shoulder, drawing the inner blade of the Saif along the man’s leg as he passed. 

The man howled in pain and anger, and spun faster than the Hunter had anticipated with the next blow, forcing him to stumble backwards to avoid it. 

For a tense moment, neither moved, until the Hunter clicked the Saif closed and dashed forwards. He slid to the side at the last moment, the hound snapping uselessly at his cloak as he drew the blade along the man’s side. His armor prevented the blow from killing him, but it cut deep nonetheless. 

The man roared and swung, barely catching the edge of the Hunter’s upper arm, not enough to cause real damage, but enough to knock him off-balance. The hound took the opportunity to sink it’s fangs into his forearm. 

He hissed, but didn’t yank. The dog’s teeth would take most of his arm with it if he pulled, but he couldn’t take the Saif in his other hand. 

He quickly drew his Evelyn and fired into the hound’s skull, twisting his arm free as the hound fell. The bullet caught the edge of his arm. He would have to remember to repair the leather later. 

The leader jumped back at the noise, and the Hunter used the opening to fire three times into his chest. 

The man stopped, and let out a long, gurgling wheeze, sinking to his knees. The Hunter, still holding on to the Saif, stepped forwards, lengthened it, and ended the man with a gash across his throat. 

The camp was silent, but for the Hunters heavy breathing and the dying whines of the first hound. He turned to the assembled blades. “I believe this ends my challenge.”

~~~~~~~ Guess who. It’s someone new. ~~~~~~~

The Iron Bull had seen a lot in his life. Dragons, demons, all manner of beasts, but a Dalish elf who carried a small cannon and fought like the storm around them? That was a first. 

He’d seen a lot of shit in his life. This was one of the few times it scared him. This blood soaked, feathered nightmare in a bird skull mask was something he definitely hadn’t signed up for, but it was too late to back out now. 

All at once, the camp seemed to let out a collective sigh. One of the Blades stepped forwards. “Then let it be known that you are our new leader.”

Immediately the camp was swarming with activity. The bodies of the hounds and their previous leader were quickly carried away. Solas quickly approached and led the- Herald? Demon?- over to the side. 

Sukest was already fumbling with his right bracer, where the hound had bitten him. It fell away in seconds, revealing the blood-soaked sleeve underneath. 

Solas hissed and muttered under his breath. Sukest pulled a small knife from somewhere in his armor and cut away the sleeve. The overhang of the building behind him had a steady stream of water running off it, and he used that to rinse his arm. 

An almost perfect bite mark, shallower because of the armor, but still bleeding lightly, and one long, thick line, through the center of the bite, bleeding heavily. 

Solas swore in elvish, immediately casting something that left trails of a soft green light, clamping his hands around Sukest’s arm. 

Cassandra, who had been speaking with one of the Blades, approached, with Sera trailing behind. The Iron Bull followed after them, out from the center of the camp. 

“Quick question,” he managed after a moment.

“Go ahead.” Sukest pulled his mask off, taking the rest of the headpiece with it. 

“What the fuck is that?” He nodded towards the small, innocuous device that was apparently a powerful cannon. 

He’d set it down on the box he was sitting on. A long, thin silver tube, with a small handle and several thin, delicate details on it. 

“When Leliana said it had scared several of our soldiers,” Cassandra spoke slowly, unsure, “she mentioned only a loud noise. She assumed it a diversionary tactic, to take an opponent off-guard.”

“It’s a bit more than that.”

“No fucking kidding. Where did it come from?” Now that he had calmed himself as best he could, and his ears had stopped ringing, he noticed the smell. Burnt, like sulfur, and heavy. It reminded him uncomfortably of Gaatlok. Shit. 

This mystery elf had gone from ‘a bit strange, investigate’ up to ‘find all possible information as soon as possible and try not to die while doing it’.

“Had it since I woke up here.”

“And you didn’t think to inform anyone of its capabilities?” Solas looked up from his arm, not quite angry, but stressed and getting there. 

“Seemed like a last-resort kind of thing to me. That, and I’d like to avoid people pawing at what I have left.” 

Solas took a quick, deep breath, and let it out slowly. “A discussion for another time.”

Sukest nodded, not saying anything. Solas released his arm. “That’s the most I can do for now. We have more supplies back at camp.”

He nodded again and laced his bracer back into place. “Thank you.” 

The walk back to the Inquisition’s camp was quiet. Sukest had spoken with one of the Blades, likely the previous leader’s second in command, for quite a while before they left. 

They’d spoken too softly for him to hear all of it, but it was something along the lines of “stop attacking the Inquisition, you’re part of it now”. 

Now, back at their camp, things stayed quiet. Sukest was whisked off to the medical tent almost immediately, and Solas went with him. Cassandra went to find and brief Harding on what had happened, and Sera had found a nice, dry crate in the back of the command tent to set herself on. 

Not a bad idea. Sera looked about as shaken as he felt. 

Some time later, Sukest’s arm must have been declared ‘good enough’, because he was out of the medical tent. 

Thankfully, he wasn’t wearing that forsaken mask. The pearly off-white had been splashed with a good deal of blood, making it look like something out of a nightmare instead of just a standard intimidation tactic. 

The rest of his outfit was still stained. He sat by the opening to the tent and took it off piece by piece to rinse away the worst of it in the runoff from the rain. 

It was surprising how much more intimidating the armor made him look. With it, he was this shadow of blade and feathers. Without it, he was a small, pale elf.

Which was another thing. He was pale. Dalish often had lighter skin, but the sun would darken it at least a little. Sukest had none of that. It made him look almost sickly. 

The Iron Bull took a deep breath, and reminded himself not to be fooled. 

He would go to Haven with the Inquisition, if only to warn them about what they’d picked up. 

He remembered reading the report a few months ago, from one of their operatives in western Orlais. They’d found a single human man out in the desert, passed out on the sand. 

He had ragged clothes, faded yellow cloth and scuffed leather with brass fittings, and a rusted weapon. He’d been injured and terribly dehydrated, so the group had taken him back to their camp. 

Upon waking, the man had slaughtered the three nearest men, and leapt for a fourth. It had been a bloodbath. 

There had been 12 operatives, and nine of them had been slaughtered. The others only survived because the man had already been at death’s door. 

He remembered the sketches included in it, of the strange armor, the jewelry, and the small odds and ends. Foreign coins, a necklace, and a smashed tube made of iron and wood, the purpose of which he now knew. 

Most of all, he remembered the weapon. He hadn’t drawn the connection before today, and now he cursed himself for it. It looked exactly like what this Herald was carrying now. 

This man was in good health, or good enough. His armor was of better make, and his tools were finer, in good repair. 

If he decided to attack, the Iron Bull wouldn’t stand a chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, hope y’all liked it :3


	20. Hey man nobody’s perfect

They had the next day off, on account of the Hunter’s injury. It had surprised him how many of the soldiers came by to wish him well. He recognized some from the Hinterlands, and a few from his earlier days at Haven.

Injury aside, the weather might have called off their plans anyways. The storm, it seemed, was determined to wipe out everything but the rocks and trees. 

He’d reached into his supplies during the night for another tin of the wax, and carefully added some back into the one he’d been using, smoothing it down. If he emptied a tin, a full one from nowhere would be suspicious. 

He worked through the rest of Harding’s armor, then through Sera’s. 

He’d also taken apart the Evelyn to clean it, which had drawn in both Harding and Solas. He’d thought the Iron Bull might want a look, being a spy and all, but he’d gone to settle something or another among the Chargers. 

Sera had shown up around halfway through taking it apart, and stuck around, which he was glad about. He’d scared her, yesterday. Scared most of them a little, between the gun and the injury. 

He cleaned the mechanisms, explained what he knew about how it worked. Took out one of his bullets as well, ornate and silver. 

He decided against showing the gunpowder for now. It unsettled them, to not know where it had come from, and to know that something so small could do so much. Though, they did calm a bit once they knew how it worked, their fear of the unknown gone, no longer amplifying the rest. 

He carefully set it back together and slid it back into its holster. Luckily, the rain hadn’t hurt it in the time he’d left it damp and unattended. He cleaned the Saif as well, knocking away the small bits of rust that had accumulated despite his best efforts. The constant, salty damp wasn’t good for it. 

His armor was alright, save the bitten arm piece. He’d have to patch it up here, then take it back to the dream. The Doll had patched his armor before, and he hoped she’d do it again. 

He’d have to get her something for her trouble. She’d loved the hairpin he’d found. Next time he was in Val Royeaux he’d look at the jewelry. 

He was on strict downtime for the time being, with the threat of another day of inactivity hanging over him. His arm was healing well, but it was still a somewhat serious wound. 

Solas had spent a good amount of time back at the camp with the herbalists. The wrappings had to be changed often in the humidity, and Solas would use a bit of magic to help speed the healing while they did so.

The blood he’d taken that night had also helped, perhaps a bit too much. Wounds didn’t suddenly vanish for most people. He’d only taken part of a vial, and it had done more than he’d expected. 

Luckily, they seemed to assume that it just hadn’t been as bad as it looked. Out of the rain, in proper dressings, the bruising had calmed quickly and the swelling from the bite had gone down considerably. 

They had plans to close the rift the next day, so long as he didn’t stress his arm unnecessarily. Maintenance aside, there wasn’t a whole lot he could do.

A small group of Blades came in the afternoon, to establish contact with the Inquisition. He’d been present, but it was mostly a meeting between the Blades, Harding, and Cassandra. 

It had gone surprisingly well. For the time being, they would assist scouts and serve as a secondary camp. They did know of a few more rifts, but further towards the south-west, far from the camps. 

They also knew about the dragon. She had her nest on an island a short ways out to sea, to the north-west. She wasn’t much of a danger, only came to the shore for food every few days. 

The day passed agonizingly slowly. In the end he called it late enough to go bed, despite the fact it was hardly sunset. 

The next morning, the rain was the lightest it’d been yet. The worst of the storm had passed, it seemed. 

The five of them made decent time, and found the rift’s general area by the early afternoon. The rift itself was one of the larger ones, but it closed like the rest. 

Again, Sera had hung back further than archery generally required, but she hit her targets just fine. Demons seemed like a reasonable fear. Inconvenient, given the situation, but who was he to judge when he wouldn’t get within thirty feet of the sea?

This rift, thankfully, had been back away from the shore, in the sparse forest that had somehow managed to anchor itself among the rocks. 

It was a slower day, but definitely better than just sitting back at camp. Travel had gotten much easier with the Blades. They knew the area well, all the little paths and shortcuts. The group arrived back at camp by the early evening. 

Harding was waiting for them in the command tent. “I have good news and I have bad news.”

“Good news first?”

“We found an old abandoned house in good shape across the way. It used to be some kind of light house. It has a little cove for ships and everything, and offers a good vantage point. 

“What’s the bad news?”

“There’s a rift down by the docks.”

Well. “I’m guessing this is tomorrow’s objective?” 

“That it is. But hey, it’s got a great view, and I think the weather might hold for you.”

That was good news. The constant rain was taking its toll on all of them. 

If he was lucky, the rift would even be a bit inwards of the water. 

No, it turned out. He was not that lucky. 

They were still a good ways away, but they could see the docks across the water. The rift itself was just over the water. He’d have to be on the docks to reach it. Damn. 

The house itself was on a small island, just barely disconnected from the mainland. Thankfully, there was a bridge. 

Harding was right, this place would be useful. It was in a central place, and the view from the house made for an excellent vantage point. 

The rift was thankfully still over the docks, though just barely, and the demons weren’t particularly strong here. 

Fewer wraiths, a few shades, and two terrors, which he’d decided he didn’t like. They seemed to avoid him, which was smart on their part, but a tad bit annoying. 

Sera hung back, shooting from up on top of the hill, while Cassandra and Bull got closer. Solas found a decent spot of middle ground to anchor himself and start throwing spells. 

The Hunter dashed forwards. The sooner this thing was closed, the better. Being this close to the water put him on edge. 

The wraiths went first, then the two terrors, then the shades, one of which had decided that the docks were the best place to be. 

Apparently, however, there had been a third terror he hadn’t seen, because it had managed to surprise him while he was running across the docks and send him toppling into the water. 

~~~~~~~ <|+_+|> ~~~~~~~

The Iron Bull looked up from the pretty-much-dead demon in front of him at the splash and looked around. 

All the demons bar one (not counting the one right in front of him) had fallen, and Sukest was over by the last one. Or, at least, he had been a few moments ago. Was that the splash?

Cassandra sprinted for the docks. The Iron Bull followed. 

The terror had apparently already taken a beating, because Solas fried it as they approached, and it was easily batted away as it dissolved. 

The splash had been Sukest. Splashing, because he was rather frantically trying to pull himself out of the water. Could he not swim?

The water was just a bit too far below the boards for him to reach them with his uncoordinated flailing. He couldn’t swim, but he didn’t drop his weapon, which on any other day might be slightly impressive, but right now it was working against him. 

The blade made it rather difficult to reach him without severe injury, despite Cassandra’s attempts. 

Solas dashed up between them from behind. He slid the end of his staff into the water, then used it to knock against Sukest. 

Sukest immediately grabbed hold and all but shot up onto the dock, like a cat scrambling out of a tub. He stumbled off the docks, back onto the land, before he grabbed his mask by the beak and ripped it off, tossed it away, then collapsed to his knees, hacking and wheezing.

Cassandra picked up his weapon, which he’d left behind on the boards, and started after him, walking slowly. 

Solas, going a good deal faster, got there first, just as Sera arrived from the other side. 

“Hey! Hey, what’s wrong?” Sera looked understandably panicked. Someone who had hardly been injured before, reduced to this. 

It took him a moment to reply, a breathy “I’m fine”, but his hands were shaking too much for it to be anything approaching believable. 

The rift, which had been almost forgotten, sputtered, and Sukest immediately stumbled to his feet. A few steps later, he hesitated. 

The rift was too far along the dock to close from the shore. 

Cassandra apparently had a solution. She walked up to him, and handed him his weapon. She gently set a hand on his back and walked forwards. He followed. They closed the rift, then came back to shore. 

Sukest let out a shaky breath and slid to his knees. Sera retrieved his mask from where he’d tossed it away and handed it to him. 

“Thank you.”

“What happened?” The concern was plain on her face. “I mean, I get not being able to swim, just, you okay?”

He gave a rather forced laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”

Solas crouched next to him. “I somehow rather doubt that.”

“I hate to break this up-“ all eyes turned to the Iron Bull as he spoke, “but we might want to be somewhere else for this.”

Distantly, darker storm clouds were gathering. The weather held for the rift, but that was it. 

“Right.” Sukest let out a last, unsteady breath, and stood. “We’ll want to get back before the storm hits.”

It was more noticeable now, on the way back to camp, but looking back, he’d never gone anywhere near the sea. He always looked anxious walking along the shore, and took any excuse he could find to move inland. 

The walk back was quiet. They dispersed at the camp briefly, then met at the command tent. 

Sukest wasn’t in his armor. He’d found a different set of clothes somewhere, or maybe he’d had them to begin with and just never wore them. Every time, it surprised him just how slight this man was, especially now. 

His blade was nowhere in sight, but he had his little cannon with him, and seemed to be taking it apart. He must of noticed the interest, because he motioned the Iron Bull forwards. 

”Don’t worry, I don’t bite.” He grinned, but his hands were still faintly trembling, hardly noticeable except through the fine pieces he was working with. “You were gone the day I explained this, right?”

“Yeah. Went back to the Chargers.”

“I can show you how it works, if you like. I don’t know how to build one or anything, but I can take it apart enough to clean it.”

That would be nice, actually. Made his job a hell of a lot easier, and Sukest looked like he desperately needed a distraction. 

Sukest was in the middle of showing him one of the ‘bullets’, the projectiles, when Solas and Cassandra entered, followed closely by scout Harding, who immediately went up to him. 

“Heard you took a bit of a fall. Are you alright?”

“Yeah. It’ll take a bit more than that to finish me off.” He laughed it off, but looked uneasy. 

“Actually, it’s what we wanted to talk to you about, if that’s alright.” Given the way she’d helped him earlier, Cassandra had likely reached the same conclusion he had, and wanted to confirm it. 

He nodded, but didn’t look particularly happy about it. “Sure.”

Cassandra took a seat across the table from him, and Solas leaned on a nearby tent support. 

Solas spoke first. “I have a few questions, if you don’t mind.” When he received no objection, he continued. 

“First, what exactly happened?”

“One of the terrors managed to sneak up on me, hit me off the edge.”

“Secondly, can you swim?”

He snorted. “No.”

“Last question. Which was worse, the possibility of drowning or the water itself?”

It took him a moment to actually think about it. “...the water.”

“The sea in particular or water in general?” Cassandra had been quiet until now. 

“The sea.”

She nodded. “Do you know why?”

“No, I don’t.” He sighed, somewhat annoyed. “Why?”

“In part, curiosity.” Solas took a seat next to Cassandra. “I wanted to confirm what was going on. I’ve seen similar things during my walks through the fade.”

“Warriors charging into battle and then running from the tide?”

Solas sighed. “No, not that in particular, though the sea has claimed more lives than any battle ever could. I mean soldiers, warriors, fighters, whose time in combat wears on them in less obvious ways. A soldier camped in the woods in enemy territory for a prolonged period of time may react strongly to a certain birdsong, or the smell of a certain plant, even once back home. One from the frozen coasts may freeze when they hear ice crack, even ice from a Mage’s spell, from their old fear of falling through the ice.”

Sukest set the pieces he was still fiddling with down carefully, but didn’t say anything. 

“If someone, say, fought near the sea or on a ship, even just once, and it went terribly wrong, it would be perfectly understandable that they’d be wary of the water, even without a direct reason.”

“Hmm.” He seemed to consider it. “It makes sense, I guess.” He didn’t look terribly happy about it, but it must have made more sense than anything else he might of thought of, because he didn’t argue. 

“Which leads us to the second matter. Our scouts have made a breakthrough in Redcliffe. We may leave here earlier than planned, in order to speak with the mages there.”

They did, in fact, leave a day or two early, and started back towards Haven, and the Iron Bull went with them. 

As uneasy as he felt, he still had a job to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha rip Sukest.
> 
> Hope y’all liked it, thanks for reading :D


	21. Heyyy let’s get this moving

The ride back to Haven was faster than usual. With the Chargers acting as additional guards, they didn’t have to worry about being attacked by bandits or the wildlife nearly as much. 

The weather improved as they moved away from the coast, and the Hunter’s mood improved with it. 

“You could’a said something, you know.” Sera fell in step beside him. 

“Hmm? About what?”

“The water. How much it bothered you.”

“It was hardly a problem until I fell in.”

“Bullshit. We’re a day out and you’ve stopped doing your thing.”

“My… thing?”

“You were walkin’ around like you thought someone was gonna jump at you.”

“Was I?”

“Well, I mean, it wasn’t as in your face as that, but lookin’ back it’s pretty clear.”

Damn. Had it been that obvious?

She must have seen the look on his face. “Hey, you can’t be good at everythin’, you know. It’d be weird if you didn’t have some kind of fear. Everyone does.”

He sighed. What was it Eileen had said? ‘Without fear in our hearts, we’re little different from the beasts themselves.’ “I guess so.”

She didn’t look very happy, but let the subject drop. 

They reached Haven in the early afternoon, and after the caravan and the Chargers were settled, the Hunter went out to find Cassandra. He found her out on the field with the soldiers. 

“Thank you.”

“What for?” She was still in her armor, but had set her sword and shield down somewhere. 

“For helping me out on the docks.”

“Oh.” She looked surprised. “You needn’t thank me. I did only what needed to be done.”

“Nonetheless, thank you. I could not have closed the rift on my own.” It hurt just a little to say, but it was the truth.

“I am only glad it worked. Not all respond well to touch during such events.”

“Is this kind of thing common? Soldiers with irrational fears.”

“Not as irrational as you might think. You…” She stopped, then sighed. “It is not necessarily common, but not rare either. Often, it is the clash of metal, or something similar. Waking in the night at the slightest sound of metal can save you from an ambush, but only when an ambush is a danger. A reflex that might have kept you alive during battle that stays with you during times of peace.”

“How long does it usually last?”

“That depends on the person. If you want to know more about the specifics, Leliana would be the one to ask.”

A fair point. He thanked Cassandra again, and then went off to find her. 

She was, as usual, in her large spy tent, shuffling through papers. She didn’t seem to notice him at first. 

He was about to leave and come back another time when she looked up and saw him.

“Oh, There you are. I was just about to go looking for you.”

“Can I help you?”

“I think so. I’ve heard about a few things from your trip I wanted to ask you about. Primarily about the thing on your hip.”

Right. She’d want to know about that. She didn’t look particularly happy at the moment either. “Of course. I’ll answer what I can.”

“I suppose it would be useless to ask you where it came from.”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Why did you not tell us about it?” ‘Do you not trust us?’ was the real question. 

“For two reasons, I suppose. First, I’d thought you’d known at least part of it. You’d said it had scared a few scouts, and the room had a bullet hole in the wall. Second,-“

“What do you mean a hole in the wall? In the basement? Can it truly pierce even stone?”

“Well, it can at least dent the mortar. I can show it to you, if you’d like.”

“Perhaps later. Your second reason?”

“I… in truth? I hadn’t wanted it confiscated. I don’t have much left to my name. I haven’t seen anything like it since I got here, and planned on it being only a last resort. One that came in handy, thankfully.”

She thought about that for a moment, then sighed. “I may not entirely agree, but I suppose I understand, at least in part.” She paused again. “No one here will take it from you, will take anything of yours, without your permission.”

“... thank you.” He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but this wasn’t it. 

“You came here for a reason, though, did you not? For something else.”

“Right. I actually had a question. Cassandra recommended I ask you.”

“Ah. Something to do with your swim, I take it.”

Of course she’d heard. “Yes.”

“I’ve heard from Solas already. There are a few names for it, the most common being battle or combat fatigue. Admittedly, salt water is a less common focus, though not the strangest I’ve heard of.”

“Can I be rid of it? This… condition?”

“Some cases do get better with time, be it from exposure to the source or other methods, but it is a slow and careful process. Many of the ‘treatments’ can make it worse if rushed.”

“... I see.”

“You know, it may not be entirely a bad thing to appear imperfect.”

He sighed. “The goal is not perfection, it’s function. It’s dangerous, to freeze up during battle from a little sea spray.”

“It is. So, we minimize trips to the coast. But having this fatigue goes a long way to reminding soldiers that you aren’t on some other plane. You’re a person, like them, and like all people, you have flaws.”

“I suppose.” After the Breach, he’d see about fixing this. He could wait that long, at least. 

They stood in silence for a few minutes. Then, “What happened to your arm?”

The bracer still had a long, thick gash through it where the bullet had gone, white (grey, now) bandages visible underneath. “The Blade’s leader kept hounds. One of them bit me, so I shot it.”

“While it was still on your arm? Didn't you say that thing makes holes in walls?”

“It can. It only glanced me. Most of the damage went to the armor.”

“And the bandages?”

“For the graze, and the dog’s teeth.”

“Can you repair it? Your bracer.”

“I only need the materials.”

She sent him off to Harritt, who happily surrendered a bit of black leather. 

He waited until nightfall before he slid into the chantry and down into the basement. Luckily, Vivienne had gone back to Val Royeaux to wrap up a few of her loose ends, so he didn’t have to worry about running into her. 

The Workshop had the specialized tools he needed to fully repair his Saif and gun, not to mention the armor. 

The dream was the same as always. The Doll was asleep, so he quietly climbed the stairs up to the workshop. This wouldn’t take too long. 

Several hours later, he heard the Doll enter. “Welcome home, good Hunter.”

He turned from the bench and smiled. “Hello again.”

She smiled and dipped her head, then looked at the bench in front of him. 

He had the Evelyn in several pieces, scraping little bits of salt and dirt from the inner mechanisms. The Saif, leaning against the table, had already been cleaned, the inner blade and tip sharpened. 

The bracer, not yet repaired, lay off to the side. She moved a hand towards it. “If I may…”

“If you want to.”

She did, apparently. He’d have to remember to bring something next time, a necklace, or maybe a bracelet.

Eventually, he slotted the last piece of the Evelyn back into place. The Doll had long finished the bracer and gone back outside. 

He stood and took the Saif from the floor. It was time he got back. He waved to the Doll, who was tending to the gardens, on his way out, and she waved back. 

He slid back out of the basement, back into the Chantry proper. A glance outside confirmed once again that no time had passed. So it was only in the city itself that time would pass here. Good to know. 

Most of the village was already asleep, and the few still awake only nodded in passing. He made his way back to his room and slept. 

~~~~~~~ :) ~~~~~~~

Leliana leaned back against the table, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. She’d just sent for Sera, and the two of them were going to have quite the chat. 

The Iron Bull had come to her earlier, with one of his Ben-Hassrath reports. She wasn’t sure if what he’d shown her was true, but if it was, she needed answers. 

Normally, she’d have written him off as an outside force trying to weaken the inquisition, but a report from her own people gave her pause. It was this report that she held now. 

“You were lookin for me?” Sera ducked into the room. She was in the chantry instead of her tent. This would require privacy. 

“I was. I have a few questions for you.”

“Sure. Whatcha need?”

“I need to know exactly where and from who you got those tips from.”

Her face fell. “So nothings come of them still?”

“Quite the opposite. So, who gave you those tips?”

Sera perked up immediately. “A friend of mine. What did ya find?”

“I found the corpses of some of my best agents. Three days ago, two were found dead. I heard the news this morning.”

Sera’s eyes went wide. So she hadn’t expected this. 

“Where did you get the information?”

“I- I’ll ask through my friends, find out exactly where it came from-“

She stumbled on her response. She knew where this information came from. “You said that last time. You already know where this information came from, if only from a middle man. Tell me who gave it to you. Tell me why I found two of my best agents strung up like livestock, flayed alive and left to bleed out.”

Sera’s hands were shaking. Actually, most of her was shaking, not just her hands. Perhaps she’d pressed a bit too hard. “I… you’re not going to like this.”

“I’d say I’m already quite unhappy with the situation. Who gave you the information?”

“I got it from Sukest.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading :3


	22. Hey man it’s not a huge time slip for once

Cassandra was out in the training field when Leliana found her. She ducked through the soldiers, over to the center. 

“Cassandra. A word?”

“Of course.”

“I have a few questions about something I’ve heard from Sera.”

Cassandra had many talents, but keeping secrets wasn’t one. It showed on her face she knew what Leliana meant. “This is… perhaps not the best place for it.”

They went to the Chantry, where Sera was still waiting. 

“Now. From what I’ve heard, Sukest may not be the amnesiac he claims to be. Not entirely, at least. Is there any truth to that?”

“Some, but not in the way you’re thinking.”

“And I’m expected to believe that we have an amnesiac who only remembers his past when he’s black-out drunk?”

“If I had not seen it for myself, I wouldn’t believe it.”

“And you truly believe he has no memory at any other time?”

“I do. No one is a good enough actor to feign this much ignorance about the world. I believe Varric is still trying to explain what the darkspawn are.”

That was a fair point. If he was pretending, he was better at that than he was at fighting. She’d only seen him fight once, but that was enough.

“We could prove it.”

They both turned to Sera. 

“And you could get your questions answered. We just get him drunk again. Sketchy, I know, but if you’ve lost people to this, we gotta be fast, and I gotta tell my friends to be careful.”

It was a fair point, though not without its difficulties. “We’ve a meeting later today, and you are set to leave for Redcliffe tomorrow morning.”

“Last I checked you could be hungover in the back of a wagon while you’re traveling. He usually just hovers around anyways.”

Cassandra sighed. “And the rest of us?”

“Have a drink or two and switch to water. No hangover, and you’ll remember what he says.”

“You’ve done this before.”

“Only a few times. Like, twice. It’s sketchy, like I said.”

It wasn’t great, but it was the only plan they had. Sera said she’d set everything up and let them know when to come. 

Sure enough, late that evening, Cassandra came up to get her. They had a place outside the walls, she explained, and Sera had slipped out to the fields to signal her. 

They’d found a nice little house in the nearby trees. It was in good repair, and furnished, perhaps better than many of the houses in the village itself. Their previous Alchemist’s, if she remembered correctly. 

Sukest and Sera were there already, with a good amount of alcohol. This explained the tavern’s recent complaints of missing stock, at least. 

Sukest looked up at her from his place on the floor and blinked. “Leliana.” He grinned. “And Cassandra.”

Were all those empty bottles his? Sera hadn’t been joking when she’d said he could drink. 

Sera raised a bottle in their direction. ‘Water,’ she mouthed when Sukest wasn’t looking. 

Cassandra took a seat on a crate and Leliana took a seat across from Sera at the small table. 

“So, back to you?” Sera gestured at Sukest with her drink. 

“Right, right.”

“Back to what?”

“That bitch in the armor. Uhhh Lucy. Lucy? Yeah. That guy.”

“Lord Seeker Lucius?” Cassandra raised an eyebrow. 

“Yeah, that guy. Fuckin’ struts around, all ‘ooooo look at me, I’m important, I’m one of the Holy Blades, respect me’. Bastard.” He took another drink, then set the bottle with the rest of the empty ones. 

Holy Blades. Templars? An archaic name, though. 

“I thought badges were for Hunters?” Sera tossed him another bottle, some kind of whiskey, which he caught decently well. 

“They are. Holy Blades are Hunters. Old ones, from some other tradition, line of knights or something, but still Hunters. They’re under Ludwig, though, and he’s dead, so maybe not anymore?” He took a drink. “I’m not really sure.”

“So Holy Blades are, what, a sub-type of… Hunters?” Were Hunters some old kind branch of the Chantry, like the Seekers?

“Kinda, yeah. I mean, they hunt with the rest of us, but they’re so pretentious about it.” 

“So, are you one of these Holy Blades?”

He laughed, loudly. “Nah. Never actually met one, either. They don’t like coming down, I guess.”

“But you’re a Hunter?”

“Technically, yeah. I mean, I have the weapons and I’ve got a badge.”

“No rites of initiation?”

“You’re in if you’re good enough to survive.”

“So, if you’re a Hunter, what are you doing here? Why come to the Conclave?”

He frowned. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“No. I- I was at the workshop. Gherman wanted to see me in the garden.”

“What for?”

“He wanted to kill me.”

Oh. Well. “Why?”

“The Hunt was over. It was time, I guess.”

“But you’re here now?”

“Only because I won.”

“And Gherman…?”

“Dead. I didn’t really want to kill him, but…” he trailed off. 

“What about your buddies?” Sera sat up from her slouch. “Who were they?”

He laughed. “Who?”

“Whatsisname, uhhh, Dure?”

“Djura?”

“Yeah, him.”

“He’s retired. Well, he left and no one went after him. Same thing. Dunno if it was because people liked him or if he just wasn’t worth the effort.”

“What was he? Pre-retirement?”

“That’s… a good question, actually. I think he was a Powder Keg.”

“A what?”

“They like the big flashes. Explosions. Djura had a Gatling gun set up. Spent a while shooting at me.”

“A gatt…”

“Gatling gun. Like uhhhh…” He drew the thing at his hip. “So, like this, but it keeps going.”

“Keeps… going?”

“Like, one bullet after the other. Fast. Hurts a lot. He was alright once I got up to him, though. Was just defending people.”

Well. “So that’s a gun, then.” Leliana nodded to the weapon in his hands.

“Right.” He frowned again. “I haven’t actually seen a gun since I got here. Do you not have them?”

“No. And what do you mean, here?”

“So, I was in the city, then I was at the workshop, and then…” He shook his hand out, like he was shaking off water. “And then I was here. In the dungeon.”

“Just like that?”

“No, something happened. There was… something. I can’t…” He shook his hand again, more persistently. Through his glove (repaired, now) she could see the faint green light of his mark. 

“Hey, it’s no problem.” Sera grinned at him, though she was tense. Worried? “What about your other friends? Who were they?”

“Hmm? Oh, right. Alfred’s an Executioner, I think. All ‘Cainhurst this, Vileblood that’. Nice face, though. Pretty.”

Cassandra snorted. 

“Oh, come on, you haven’t seen him. So nice, too. Like Cullen, but with self esteem.”

Sera burst out laughing. 

“Well, he has straight hair. But you get the idea.”

Sera wiped the tears from her eyes. “So, what about the third one? Aleen?”

“Eileen.” He calmed considerably. “She… she was the first hunter I’d met, aside from Gherman.”

“And what’s she?”

He frowned. “She’s a Hunter of Hunters.”

“Explain.” Leliana leaned forwards. 

“Well, so, Hunters… well, they don’t always take things well.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I-“ he stopped for a moment. “I found someone, once. An older hunter. He’d been hunting so long, I guess all the blood got to him. He was… crazy, I guess. Someone like that is dangerous in a fight. Never know who they’ll attack.”

“So a Hunter of Hunters…”

He nodded. “They go after the ones who’ve gone crazy.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes. 

“Is she alright?”

“Hmm? Oh. I think so. She was injured last I saw her, but I think she got away. She said she was done, though. Getting too old.”

“Done?”

“Being a Hunter of Hunters. She left. Not sure where she went after that.”

Well. “So, where did all your friends go? Where are they now?”

“I don’t know. I went looking, but they were gone. I guess I’m gone now, too.” He chuckled. 

“Where is this city of yours?”

“Yharnam? I… huh. I don’t think it’s on your maps.”

“What country?”

“I think I crossed into Carim on m’ way there, so, Carim.”

Carim? “You aren’t from the city?”

“Oh, no.” He laughed. “No, I’m from further north, in the mountains.”

“So what brought you to the city?”

“I went in for healing.”

“Healing?”

“I was sick. Always was, really, since I was little.”

“How sick?”

“Could shoot a bow, but that’s about it. Went for small game, y’know, rabbits, foxes. Could hardly handle deer.”

Very sick, then. “So you went to find a doctor?”

“Yeah.” He dropped the now empty bottle of alcohol and shuffled around the pile at his feet for a full one. “Found one.”

“A doctor or a drink?” 

“Yeah.” He popped the top off another drink. “Both of those.” A very effective doctor, apparently. Could they be found?

“Is that where you got those brands?” Cassandra set her cup (where did she find that?) down. 

“Hmm?”

“On your neck.”

“Oh. Yeah.” He set a hand on the back of his neck. “From the workshop.”

“What for?”

“A couple things.” Drink. “Mostly for strength.”

“For… strength.”

“Well, yeah.” His slurring was getting worse. They were running out of time for questions.

“You said you were from the mountains?”

“Yeah. Up north. Little village, up in the snow.”

Village? Not a clan? “What village?”

“Lumimyrsky.”

“Lum- lumyky?” Sera did her best. 

“Lumimyrsky.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Such a nice place.”

“Would you go back, if you could?” Leliana leaned back. 

“Ha. If I could. It’s gone, now.”

“Gone?”

“Gone.” He didn’t seem willing to specify, and looked almost like he was about to cry. A volatile drunk, but a surprisingly coherent one.

They sat in silence. 

Leliana took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “Sukest-“

He was passed out on the floor. 

“That’s normal.” Sera stood up and stretched. 

“Should we move him?” Cassandra started kicking bottles into vague piles. 

“There’s a bed in the other room.”

They pulled him onto it. 

“So, discussion tomorrow, or…?”

“You leave tomorrow.”

“What’s to discuss?” Cassandra made for the door. “You have your leads, and we have somewhere to be. You need not wait for us to investigate.”

She didn’t, that was true. Sera, Cassandra, Varric, and Solas were going. A shame she couldn’t ask Solas for his expertise, but Vivienne was due back within the week. They had their disagreements, but the woman was a skilled mage. 

In the meantime, she had a few questions for the Iron Bull about that report he’d shown her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rip Sukest hangovers are awful


	23. Alright let’s get this over with

Every damn time Sera suggested drinking, it ended like this. The Hunter was slouched over on the back of a horse, wearing his mask to block out the sun. 

Varric pulled up next to him. “Rough night?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“I seem to recall you saying you were ‘never drinking again’.”

“Mistakes were made.” It was muffled, but still audible through the mask. 

“I can see that.”

The Hunter sighed and sat up. “It’s only, what, a three day trip this time? Instead of a week?”

“Should be, if things go smoothly.”

Things did, in fact, go smoothly. With only a small group on horseback, they could travel much faster. 

One of their main objectives this time, aside from the mages, was to reach Dennet. The Inquisition needed more horses, and badly. 

Scout Harding was still at the coast, so they met with one of Leliana’s people instead. The meeting was set to happen in three days, and they had the rest of this one off. 

The Hunter slid down to the crossroads to say hello to the people there, many of which recognized and thanked him again. They were doing better, with a good chunk of the rebel forces gone. 

The next morning, they received a bird from Haven. Leliana wanted them to investigate a possible Grey Warden sighting nearby. 

“Those are the deep road warriors?”

“Kinda? They fight the darkspawn, but usually during Blights, when they’re up on the surface.” Varric pulled himself up another ledge on the hill they were climbing. 

“Is there a Blight now?”

“No, the last one finished ten years ago, with the archdemon.”

“Right. So what’s a Warden doing here?”

“That’s the question.”

For someone so difficult to track down, this warden wasn’t very difficult to find. Judging by the villagers in front of him, he wasn’t hiding, either. 

He recognized one of them, from the crossroads, though only in passing. 

These people were ‘conscripted’, apparently, but they were free to leave. The dead bandits on the ground, however, suggested they had not been here without cause. 

“Warden Blackwall?” 

The man turned quickly, surprised. Had he not noticed the approach? “How do you know my name?”

The Hunter was glad he wasn’t wearing his mask. “We’re here on behalf of the Inquisition. My name is Sukest, and I’d like to ask you a few questions if that’s alright.”

Something whispered at the back of his mind. There was something familiar about this man. What was it? “I don’t see why not. What’s the problem?”

“It seems the Wardens have disappeared. We were hoping you could shed some light on the situation.”

“First I’ve heard of it. But we do that, right? Once the Blight’s gone, wardens are the first thing to disappear.”

“So what brings you here?” What about this man was so familiar? Had they met?

“I travel alone, recruiting. Not much interest with the archdemon a decade dead, and no need to conscript because there’s no Blight on the way.”

“So you travel around and… help farmers kill bandits?”

“Ah.” He glanced back at the corpses. “They’d been attacking the nearby settlements. I stepped in and conscripted a few men. They had to do what I said, so I ordered them to stand. Next time, they won’t need me.”

He’d have to confirm later with Varric about exactly what it meant to be conscripted. “So you don’t know where the rest of the Wardens have gone?”

“I’m afraid not. This was the first I’d heard they disappeared.” He paused. “Inquisition, hmm? I thought you folks were working on the hole in the sky.”

Oh. Not the man, but the armor. He’d seen that armor, in his first memory after his fight with Gherman. People wearing it were down by the Divine. Helping kill her, if he remembered correctly. “We are. We’ve reason to believe the Wardens might be connected.”

He could feel the questioning stares on him. The Warden raised his eyebrows. “To the Breach? That stemmed from the Conclave, right? You know the-“ he broke off, and took a breath. “No, you wouldn’t be asking if you knew. The Wardens aren’t political. None would have been at the Conclave for the talks.”

“Do the Wardens not have mages?”

“We do, but they aren’t bound by the same rules as others. Anything it takes to stop the Blight, no strings attached. So, no reason to attend the Conclave.”

Well, that line of reasoning was startlingly familiar. “I see. Well, thank you for your time.” 

That had gotten him nowhere. He turned to leave, when the Warden called after him. “Inquisition- Sukest, you said? Hold a moment.”

He turned back to face the man, who approached. 

“The Divine is dead and the sky is torn. Events like these, thinking we’re absent is almost as bad as thinking we’re involved. If you’re thinking to put things back, maybe you need a Warden. Maybe you need me.”

Extraordinarily convenient. He’d take it. “If you’re offering, then welcome aboard.”

They took the Warden back to camp. It was surprisingly close, given how difficult it had apparently been to find this man. 

Varric pulled him aside once they were back, looking worried. “Do we have reason to suspect the Wardens are involved with this?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then why say it?” He didn’t sound angry, only confused.

The Hunter paused. “... I’ve seen that armor before.”

Varric’s eyes widened. “Do you know where?”

This wasn’t the time to blow holes in his own story. “No, I don’t.”

“So could you have seen it only is passing? Grey Wardens were everywhere a decade back.”

“No. No, it’s…” he searched for the right word, but couldn’t find it. Varric understood anyways, though. 

“Alright. Well, I’ll write back to Leliana and say we found him. If you don’t mind, then I can also tell her you know the armor?”

“It’s fine. Honestly at this point I’d just like some answers.”

Varric nodded, and went to go find the supplies for a letter. 

There was nothing scheduled for the rest of the day, so he went down to the crossroads. The people there always needed something, and he had the time to go get it. 

He bumped into Sera, later that evening, once he’d started back towards the camp. 

“Y’know, I hear there’s a dragon here too.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Up north, there’s a cave or somethin’. People say they’ve seen her flying around sometimes.”

“Huh.” He glanced at Cassandra. 

Sera, to her credit, did her best not to laugh. “What, she wanna go dragon hunting with you?”

“The opposite. Think she’d notice if we just…”

“If you just what?”

They both jumped as Varric appeared from seemingly nowhere. “Nothing.” The reply was simultaneous. 

“Uh-huh. Just don’t go sneaking off into the night again, alright? The Seeker might actually kill you this time.”

“Gotcha. I’ll stay in camp, then.”

“This time?” Sera raised an eyebrow. 

“It’s a long story.”

A story they had time for, given the lack of anything exciting currently going on. 

The next morning, they made a break for Dennet’s stables, though the Warden stayed behind to answer a few of the agent’s questions. They passed two new watchtowers, and were told of a third before they got there around mid-day. 

“Inquisition?” Dennet was an older man, and was expecting them already. 

“I’m told some of us have been here already.”

“They have, and I’ll tell you the same thing I’ve told them. You’ll have your horses once the people here are safe.”

Understandable. “What needs to be done?”

“Your soldiers have already put up several watch towers, which has been a great help with the bandits, but we’re having some trouble with the nearby wolves.”

“The wolves?”

“Something’s not right with them. Normally, torchlight and a loud noise is all you need to drive them off, but these are different. Black coats, and a determination no normal wolf carries.”

Sounded close to the Hunt’s beasts than normal wolves. “Not normal wolf behavior, I’ll agree. Do you know anything else about them?”

“It’s mostly the northern farms who’ve had trouble, so I’d bet the lair is up north. If you follow the path, there are a few hills and a good bit of forest up there.”

“Very well. Thank you for your time.”

He went back outside, where the rest of the party was waiting. “We’ll have horses once we deal with the wolves.”

“Wolves?” Cassandra raised an eyebrow.

“Wolves. I’m told they’re more determined than normal, and they’re giving the farmers a good deal of trouble.”

The wolves, it turned out, were up north, settled into a cave, along with a very determined demon. Determined, but not particularly strong. 

“It must have been influencing them.” Solas knelt down next to one of the dead ones. “Thicker coats, and higher levels of aggression.”

“But that demon’s death should stop it?”

“There might be a few stragglers, but for the most part, yes.”

There was a smaller, closer camp they would stay at for the night, but there was a rift nearby that was just slightly too close for comfort. 

The scouts directed them down to a nearby stream, where the rift hovered a bit further up, set a bit into the shallow cave covering a small waterfall. 

“You know, they’re almost pretty before they start spitting out demons.”

“If you say so.” Sera climbed up onto a rock nearby. “Whenever you’re ready, yeah?”

The Hunter walked up the stream towards the rift. The water was surprisingly shallow, and very clean. He wouldn’t need to worry too much about losing his footing here. 

The demons decided to put up a decent fight this time. The despair demons were new, and made the others much more difficult. 

He wound up leaving the shades and terrors to the rest, sprinting for their ranged foes. Despair demons, though powerful, were not particularly sturdy. 

The wraiths fell quickly after that, and he returned to help finish up the last few shades. 

No one was badly hurt, only a few mild scrapes and one case of frost burn. They decided it was early enough to trek back to the main camp, which was closer to Redcliffe. It would save them the walk in the morning. 

The walk to Redcliffe itself was calm, up until the end. There was a rift just outside the gates, and this one was strange. Parts of the ground around it looked distorted somehow. 

Those parts were, thankfully, easy to avoid, and disappeared once the rift snapped shut. Worrying, but thankfully not a lasting effect. “So, that rift…

“It seemed to alter the time around it.” Cassandra straightened, and sheathed her sword. 

“Have they done that before?”

“No, but we don’t know what these rifts are capable of.”

Inside, they were greeted by a scout. “Ser, you should know, we spread word the Inquisition was coming, but no one here was expecting us.”

Odd, considering their invitation. “Not even the Grand Enchanter?”

“If she was, she hasn’t told anyone. We’ve arranged use of the tavern for the negotiations.”

Someone else, a mage by the outfit, approached. “Agents of the Inquisition, my apologies. Magister Alexius is in charge now, but hasn’t yet arrived. He is expected shortly. You can speak with the former Grand Enchanter in the meantime.”

A magister? Those were Tevinter, right? His companions looked worried, but said nothing about it. They were led through the village, up to the tavern. The village, it seemed, was uneasy. 

As was Solas, now that he was paying attention. He’d have to ask about that later. 

Inside the tavern, a small group of mages waited, along with Fiona, who greeted them. “Agents of the Inquisition. What has brought you to Redcliffe?”

“An invitation. From you, actually.”

“From me? I don’t recall inviting the Inquisition here.”

“Well, that’s very strange, because someone who looked exactly like you met with us in Val Royeaux.”

“Someone… just like me?” Her confusion was genuine. “Whoever, or whatever, has brought you here, the situation has changed. The free mages here have already… pledged themselves in the service of the Tevinter Imperium. As one indentured to a magister, I no longer have the authority to negotiate with you.”

He glanced back at his companions, who were in various stages of quiet outrage, and recalled what he knew of Tevinter. For mages, it seemed a decent place. “Very well. Who is in charge, then?”

The door to the tavern opened, and in walked several guards and a man in one of the strangest outfits the Hunter had ever seen. Was he meant to look like a jester? “Welcome, my friends. I apologize for not greeting you earlier.”

“Agents of the Inquisition, allow me to introduce Magister Gereon Alexius.”

The man gave a short bow. “The southern mages are under my command. And you are the survivor, yes? The one from the fade? Interesting.”

The Hunter returned the bow, and gestured towards the prepared table. “Shall we?”

The Magister smiled. “It is always a pleasure to meet a reasonable man.” They were seated, and then the man called out again. “Felix, would you send for a scribe, please?” He turned back to the Hunter. “Pardon my manners. My son, Felix.”

Felix, in a similar, but less ornate outfit, bowed and left, then returned a few moments later. 

The Magister leaned back. “I am not surprised you are here. Closing the Breach is a feat many could not even attempt. There is no telling how many mages would be needed for such an endeavor. Ambitious, indeed.”

Felix was hovering oddly nearby, fidgeting and glancing at him every so often. There was something in his hands. “Does that mean you’re willing to lend your mages to our cause?”

The Hunter very slowly, casually, extended his hand back towards Felix, keeping it low, his palm facing up. Difficult to see if no one was looking. A few moments later, something was pressed into his palm. “There will have to be-“ 

Someone opened to door, rather forcefully, but it wasn’t a scribe. Instead, a rather harried soldier stood there. “I’m terrible sorry to interrupt Ser, but you’re needed back in the keep.”

The Magister let out a deep sigh. “My deepest apologies, but we’ll have to continue this another time.”

The Hunter stood and gave a short bow as the Magister and his men, plus the grand Enchanter and a few of her mages, filed out. 

Once they were gone, he opened his hand to read the scrap of paper within. ‘Come to the chantry, your life is in danger.’ He passed it to Varric, who read it aloud. 

“So, where did you get this?”

“From Felix. People don’t hover like that unless they want to either give you something or stab you.”

Sera snorted. “Right. So, creepy note from a magister, nothing weird about that.”

“It’s worth checking out, at least, even if it’s a trap.”

Varric stayed to ask a few questions, but the rest made their way towards the chantry. 

It turned out there was a rift in the chantry, being held back by a very determined mage. 

“There you are. I was beginning to wonder if anyone was-“ he stopped dead, and stared at the Hunter with wide eyes. 

The Hunter walked past him, and pushed his Saif through the nearest demon. There were only a few, and he snapped the rift shut quickly.

The man, took a deep, shaky breath. “Well then. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Not who you were expecting?”

“You could say that.”

“And you are…?”

He took another deep breath. “Dorian, of house Pavus, most recently of Minrathous.”

Minrathous. The capital? He held out his hand. “Sukest.”

Varric slid through the doors, looking troubled. The Hunter raised an eyebrow as he he approached, but didn’t say anything. This wasn’t the time. 

“What brings you here, Dorian?”

“Magister Alexius was once my mentor.” He spoke slowly, unsure of himself. What had this man so nervous? “We developed a rather dangerous type of magic, and he’s using it now.”

“Dangerous magic? Brand new concept, then.”

The man huffed. “Alexius has discovered a way to distort time itself. It’s how he stole the mages out from under you. You’ve seen how the rifts here distort time? Soon, more like them will appear, further away.”

“And you betray your mentor because…?”

“He was once my mentor, but not anymore, not for some time. This magic is dangerous, and if left unchecked, it could unravel the world.”

The Hunter sighed. “It’s never something small, is it?” 

“You believe him? A Magister?” Sera looked nervous, more than usual around magic. 

“Altus.”

“The rifts are weird here, you’ve seen it, and there’s Fiona.”

“Fascinating, if true, and dangerous.” Solas looked grave. 

“Could it be?”

“The veil here is thin, thinner than the veil at Haven. There’s certainly something here pressing on it.”

The doors to the Chantry opened, and Felix slipped in. “Oh, good. You came. Dorian, this is the Herald.”

Dorian let out a deep breath. “I know.”

The Hunter turned back to them. “Expecting someone else?”

“Not exactly. When I saw your armor, I assumed you were someone else. Someone you clearly aren’t.”

“My armor?”

Felix clarified. “My father has recently joined a cult. The Venatori, they’re called, Tevinter supremacists. With them came a few others, with strange mannerisms and stranger abilities. One of them wears armor like yours.”

Oh. Well. Not what he’d been expecting. Could Eileen be here?

Varric stepped in, noticing his confusion, bless his soul. “Armor like his? Do you have a name? Anything about him?”

“Afraid not. Never gave his name, and he always wears a mask.”

“A bird mask, by any chance?”

“A bird mask?” 

The Hunter pulled his from inside his coat.

“No, nothing like that. A silver one, rounded. I’m not sure it even has eye holes in it.”

Crow armor and a silver mask? He only knew one man like that, and last he’d checked that man was dead. It had taken a good deal of time to work his blood out of the Saif’s closing mechanism. “Is he here now?”

“No, he isn’t usually. Only drops by from time to time.”

That was both a relief and highly inconvenient. “And this man… you’re afraid of him?”

“No, of course not.” Dorian’s facade was rather fragile, and he wilted slightly after a moment. “He’s… he’s never attacked anyone, but…”

That was a step up from the man the Hunter was picturing. “Is he the only one?”

“There are a few others, but only one who stays regularly. They don’t wear the same armor as you, but they work with the man who does.”

“It’s true, then?” Dorian spoke up. “That the Herald of Andraste is an amnesiac?”

“The amnesiac part, at least.”

“You don’t like being a Herald?”

“Difficult to be, when you hardly know the religion.”

“Fair enough.” He looked marginally more relaxed.

“You said your father’s joined a cult?” He turned to Felix. “Is it a ‘my country is better than yours’ kind of thing or is it deeper?”

“It looks a good bit deeper from what I can tell. He’s gotten the southern Mages, but that was more along the way than the goal. Whatever he’s doing with them, he’s done it to get to you.”

“To me? Should I have brought him something? A gift basket, maybe?”

Cassandra sighed. “This is hardly a laughing matter.”

“Maybe not, but I’ll take my humor when I can get it. Seriously though, do you know why he wants me?”

It was Dorian who answered. “It could be that the people with him want you, or he could want to study that hand of yours. How does that work, exactly?”

“I wave my hand and the rifts close. Sometimes it glows.”

He sighed. “Right. No time to study it, I suppose.”

“Oh, I don’t know, it’s certainly an interest of mine to know what’s on my hand. It doesn’t like to be studied, apparently. It has stopped trying to kill me, though, so that’s a plus.”

Dorian glanced down, not sure how to respond. 

“So, he’s joined this cult recently? Is this normal behavior for him?”

“Not at all. I don’t know what drove him to it.”

“I might.” Felix’s eyes were downcast. “They have a good deal of power and magic he doesn’t. Healing magic, specifically. They’ve been treating me.”

“What could you have that takes joining a cult to fix?” Sera seemed mostly over the time magic, and had moved back to her standard level of objection to magic. 

“I caught the Blight a few years ago.”

Varric let out a low, quiet whistle. “Well, that would do it. You certainly don’t look like you have it, though.”

“That’s a rather recent development. A few weeks ago he was like death warmed over.” Dorian glanced at Felix. “No offense.”

“None taken, you’re right.”

“Wait, so it worked?” Varric looked to be somewhere between shock and awe. “They’ve actually cured the Blight?”

“I’m told it’s an ongoing process. The treatments are regular, and there are other medications they use, but so far, yes.”

Blood healing, for sure. Their more regular visitor must be a church doctor. If only he could ask more direct questions without giving himself away. 

“And this is done by the people who wear the same armor as he does?” Cassandra gestured to the Hunter for the last part. 

“Well, only one of them wears the same armor, and he’s only been by a few times. Some kind of supervisor, I think.” Well, Felix wasn’t wrong. He was definitely watching the rest of the Hunters.

Dorian had a strange look on his face. “You really don’t know this? You carry one of the weapons they use. Haven’t seen one of those,” he gestured to the Evelyn, “but I’ve seen things like that. Loud, but fires projectiles, like some demonic crossbow?”

“Sounds about right.” But what were they doing here? Not here, in Redcliffe, but here in this world called ‘Thedas’? Why was he here? At least he wouldn’t have to pretend to be confused. 

“Not to break up the party, but if we stand here much longer, someone’s gonna notice.” Varric had a point. The middle of a Chantry wasn’t the best place for this. 

They went back to their camp, Felix went back to the keep, and Dorian vanished to wherever he’d been staying. 

Varric sent a bird to Leliana for the second time that day. Maybe she’d be able to find some of the answers he couldn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A long one this time. I rushed Blackwall a bit, but I’ll make it up to him later. I’d like to hit Skyhold before 55k words. This thing got rediculously long while I wasn’t paying attention. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, I hope you like it :3


	24. Ehehehehe

Word came from Redcliffe the next morning, as they were deciding what to do. The Magister wanted to continue their meeting, and the Hunter couldn’t think of a reason not to. 

His companions, however, could. 

“This is definitely a trap. You know that, right? And traps from these kind machines if people end in death, usually.” Sera was proving rather persistent. 

“Probably, but one we might be able to turn on him. He doesn’t know about our chat with Dorian, or that his son is on our side. Knowing it’s a trap might be all we need.”

“Don’t be foolish. You want to walk right into a Magister’s trap? For what?” Cassandra was also against going. 

“Just knowing it’s a trap doesn’t mean you’ll escape it. Whether you know what it is or not, a bear trap will bite you all the same.” So was Varric. 

“If you have some kind of plan of your own, now is the time to share it.” And Solas. 

Blackwall has been sent to Haven for Leliana’s questions while they were at Redcliffe, and thus couldn’t provide his opinion, but he would probably also be against going. 

“I do have a plan. Dorian said the man wearing my armor was some kind of supervisor, didn’t he? So I put my mask on and walk in the front door.”

“That’s your plan?” Varric raised his eyebrows. 

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

“Or, you could get the opinion of someone who knows a good bit more about this than you do.”

They all looked up as Dorian approached, escorted by a scout who kept giving him nervous glances. 

“Do you have a plan, then?” He’d be glad to hear it. 

“Ah, no, but I do have a few valuable bits of information.”

“Such as?” Solas was clearly unhappy, but seemed willing, at least, to give the man a chance. 

“First, I can tell you that no-one has seen the face of our friend with the matching cape. That, and most people are terrified of the man. As a last resort, walking in might get you inside, if only because everyone would be too stunned to stop you.”

The Hunter sighed. It would give pause to anyone who knew what that ‘cape’ signified. Not that he could tell them that. 

“Second, I can tell you that while that man isn’t at the keep now, several of those who came with him are, and if what I’ve heard means anything, you don’t want to be fighting them.”

“Have you seen them yourself? Do you know what they look like? Anything?” Thank you, Varric, for asking what he couldn’t without looking desperate. 

“They stay in the keep, for the most part. I haven’t seen them myself, but I’ve heard a good deal. Dark cloaks and metal masks, for the most part. Sometimes there are a few in orange. Always armed, and very fast. If you’re looking to storm the keep, I’d reconsider.”

Dark cloaks and metal masks. Last he’d checked, doctors didn’t wear metal masks, but the Hunters down in the Unseen Village did. The only hunters he’d ever seen in orange were the older ones in the Nightmare. Well, and Henryk, but he was dead. 

But then, so was the other Crow. He really hadn’t met very many hunters. Most had just attacked on sight. 

“So what do you suggest?”

“We should return to Haven to plan. It’s too risky to go in now.” Cassandra crossed her arms. 

“It’ll tip him off we know it’s a trap. We have no other reason not to go.”

“Is there a chance he’ll simply negotiate?” All eyes went to him. “This might not be the dramatic plan day. He might bide his time for something else.”

“Let’s not hinge everything on that, yeah? I’d like to live. If we go back, he knows we know. If we go now, he prob’ly doesn't know we know, but knowing hardly does us any good,” Sera huffed. “Should we just ask the individual people? They can’t all want to work for Tevinter.”

“Any word of it would tip off the Magister immediately. We would still lose the element of surprise, though I don’t know if it does us any good.” Solas sighed. “None of our options are particularly promising.”

“I still think we should just go.”

“You aren’t invincible, you know. You can get hurt just like the rest of us. Fight all you want, you can’t take a keep.” Sera glared at him, angry now. 

“I know that. In theory, I won’t have to. Felix says the Magister is doing this to get to me, right? If he wanted me dead, he’d have attacked already. So, I hear him out. Doubt I’ll want any part of this, but it’s better than nothing.”

Sera jumped to her feet. “Why are you so set on this? Do you have a death wish?”

“These people know how I got here. They have the answers I’ve been looking for since I woke up here with a glowing hand, and I can’t just walk away.”

For a few moments, no one said anything. 

Eventually, Varric sighed. “You’re right, they do have your answers. It would be unfair of us to drag you off without letting you try to get them. But let’s not just rush in the front door, alright? They might want you for something, but they don’t need the rest of us, and none of us want you to walk in alone.”

Solas picked up the invitation. “It says you are to go alone. If we all go, that could start to disrupt things on their end. We can take a small group of scouts to keep an eye on things, even if they stay in the courtyard.”

“I’ll go with you as well, and Felix should already be inside. If Alexius has done anything drastic overnight, Felix should know.” They’d almost forgotten Dorian was standing there. 

Cassandra sighed. “If that’s our plan, we should go now. We’ll need as much surprise as we can get, and sitting here gets us nowhere.” She didn’t look happy about their plan, but she was willing to do it. 

Sera groaned and sat back down. “If that’s what we’ve gotta do, I guess.”

That’s what they decided to do. Redcliffe was only an hour or so away at a brisk walk, and it was only mid-morning when they arrived at the keep. 

The guards at the gate let them in without a problem, and directed them towards the main hall. Inside, someone greeted them. 

“Inquisition.” The man bowed, then paused. “The Herald was to come alone.”

“Negotiators. They come where I do.” He stared at the man through his mask.

The man shivered. “Very well. Right this way.”

The hall itself was almost cozy. Candles, rugs, guards in strange armor armed to the teeth, all the usual things. The mask did not go unnoticed, at least, and a few of those guards shifted as they passed. 

“Magister Alexius, the Herald has arrived.” The man introduced them, though they were only a few dozen feet away. Felix stood a few feet from the Magister’s chair. Throne?

The Hunter gave a short bow. “I’ve returned.”

“I see you’ve brought your… companions.”

“I’m afraid I lack the authority in the Inquisition to actually sign anything off for them. Thus, I brought those who do.”

“Very well.” He didn’t look terribly happy, but not overly upset, either. Then, he noticed Dorian, and looked rather surprised. “Dorian…?”

Dorian smiled. “Rather nice to see you again.”

This, he hadn’t expected. “You are with the Inquisition, now?”

“I am. Though, I believe you’ve business to discuss with them. We can catch up later.” 

“That I do.” He focused back on the Hunter. “You’ve come in full uniform this time. And here I thought you might have lost the rest.”

He could feel his companions shifting behind him. “I assumed it would be best to dress formally for the occasion. Wouldn’t do to look less than my best.”

The Magister looked to be at a loss for a moment. “... Very well. Shall we discuss, then? You require the aid of my Mages to close the Breach. What can you provide me in return?”

“That depends. What are you looking for? Money? Political connections? Information? Perhaps some magical relic, to fine tune your ability to travel through time?”

Up until the last part, the Magister was able to keep a fairly straight face. “I’m sorry?”

“They know, father.” Felix’s eyes were downcast, but he spoke clearly. 

The Magister paled. “Felix, what have you done?” 

“What I had to. Something isn’t right with you, hasn’t been since you joined the Venatori.”

“You…” He looked more upset than angry, until he spun on the Hunter. “You! You turn my own son against me?”

“I’ve done nothing of the sort. I’m afraid you did that all on your own.”

He turned a deeper shade of red. “Who do you think you are? I don’t know if you noticed, but you’re standing on the wrong side. Have you forgotten your debts?”

He frowned. Debts? “And who might I owe this debt to?”

“You and all the rest owe the Elder One for your safe passage. Could you truly have forgotten something so important?”

All the rest? Elder One? What? Was a Great One responsible for this? “Apparently my passage wasn’t so safe. I’m told I almost died several times.”

“Does your insolence know no bounds?” He stood. “Venatori, seize them!”

The guards stepped forwards. Varric pressed the Saif, which the Hunter hadn’t been carrying for appearance’s sake, into his hand. He clicked it open and drew the Evelyn. 

A few of the guards paused, but they attacked with those who didn’t. 

Sera shot one, and everyone started moving at once. Those eight guards didn’t last long at all. 

The Hunter pulled the Saif out of the last one just as one of the side doors opened. Out stepped someone in a black, tattered robe, wearing a metal mask and carrying a tonitrus. 

“Is there a problem, sir?” They spoke softly. 

“I was just about to teach this insolent Hunter a lesson.” He picked up a small, pale amulet from a pocket in his robes, and it started glowing the same green as the Breach. 

The Hunter took two steps forwards and shot it out of his hand. 

The Magister screamed in pain, and the other Hunter charged forwards. Two other hunters followed them out, one with a rifle spear and one with a saw spear and pistol. From a door behind them, closer to the entrance, he heard armored boots moving quickly. More guards. 

The Hunter slashed at the first, then shortened the Saif and stepped back. 

The three Hunters followed. He stepped to the side, to give the ranged members of his party a clearer shot should they finish their fight before he finished his. 

One of the other Hunters clicked on their tonitrus and dashed for him. As he swung, the Hunter shot him, and took the opportunity to bury his hand in their chest. He tore out something that felt vaguely important, and they fell to the ground. 

Distantly, he heard his runes sing with joy, and his mark hiss angrily. He could feel it creeping up his arm, could see the light through the seams in his armor, but this wasn’t the the time. 

The other two continued, stepping past their fallen companion. 

The one with the rifle spear fired, and the Hunter staggered from the force of it. A crossbow bolt appeared in the shoulder of the one with the saw spear, and he dropped his pistol. 

The one who had just shot him was suddenly on fire. The Hunter dashed forwards and finished him off with a few quick strikes, then leapt to the side to avoid the saw spear of the last one, only a bit too slow. It didn’t cut very deep, but it stung terribly.

He fired on their next swing and darted forwards to shove his hand through their chest, his mark sparking dangerously. They fell like the others had. 

A fourth figure stepped through the door the Hunters had come from, then stopped. They wore white robes, embroidered with silver, and a hat with an attached mask that covered the upper part of their face. Fuck, not a church doctor, a member of the Choir. 

“Could you not handle one rogue Hunter?” She wasn’t armed, but he knew from experience that she didn’t need to be. 

He clicked the Saif back open. She withdrew something from her pocket, and fired... something at him. He slid out of the way, and it scorched the wall behind him. 

He darted forwards, and dodged a second projectile, but wasn’t quite fast enough for the third, and stumbled back a few steps. He fired several times, and though the shots connected, they were a mere minor inconvenience to her. 

Sera, bless her heart, fired an arrow. It missed, badly enough that her hands must have been shaking, but it drew the scholar’s attention away from the Hunter, if only for a moment. 

It gave him time to dash forwards again, but she moved her hand forwards and hit him solidly with a long set of tentacles that sprouted from her hand, then vanished. 

There was enough force behind them to send him flying back, and it took him a moment to get back to his feet. That was going to bruise rather spectacularly, and his ribs were at least cracked.

“It seems I must do everything myself.” She stepped forwards, and clasped her hands above her head. 

The air around her seemed to bubble, then gather into light. For a moment, it was like she was holding stars in the air above her, soft blues and purples surrounding the bright flecks of light. 

It was quite beautiful, he thought distantly. And then she launched those stars at him. 

If not for the barrier Solas had raised, it would have killed him, and probably a few of his companions as well. As it was, the barrier shattered, but the few that hit weren’t enough to kill him. He only hoped those behind him had been as lucky. 

He pulled himself to his feet. Varric threw something, a glass bottle, that shattered at her feet, and the gas it released made her double over, coughing and hacking. 

He took the opportunity to run up. She stood before he got there, and made to shoot him again, but he was faster. He fired first, and pulled what might have been her heart out of her chest. She collapsed on the floor. The mark roared now, bright and forceful. 

He stood there, breathing heavily for a few moments, before falling to his knees. He heard footsteps behind him, light and fast, and voices, but only distantly, and he slid over sideways, unconscious, before those footsteps reached him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Close call there, buddy. Almost had your first death.


	25. Maybe these chapters should have actual names

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not very many people get to meet with the king of ferelden while shirtless. Dear Josephine is going to have a panic attack.

He awoke some time later, in an actual bed, not on one of their tent cots. Stone walls, a rug, a little bit of furniture, and a chair next to the bed with a dwarf in it. 

Said dwarf was writing something at the moment. A letter, probably. 

“Varric.”

Said dwarf jumped a little, then set his papers and quill on the nearby table. “Hey there. This makes, what, three near-death experiences? Four?”

“I try not to keep count.” He tried to sit up, but his chest and side burned awfully, and Varric gently pushed him back down. 

“You stay put for now, alright? You got burned pretty badly.”

“What happened?”

“You don’t remember?”

“I remember the fight, what happened after?”

“Ah. After you collapsed, the Magister surrendered. We led him down to the dungeons. I think Solas is patching up his hand.”

“Other guards?”

“A couple. Some of them dropped their weapons when they saw the corpses, others didn’t. The scouts in the courtyard opened the gate for the rest of our soldiers, so the rest went down pretty fast.”

“Anyone hurt?”

“Aside from you? Just a few scrapes.”

“That’s good.” He paused. “How long have I been out?” 

“Two days. Gave us quite the scare.”

Two days? For a fight like that? He was getting rusty. He’d have to find someone to spar with. 

“Tell you what, how about I go find Solas and get you something to eat, while you stay put? Sera might kill you if she sees you up and about so soon.”

He laughed. “Alright, I’ll stay here, then.”

“Good.” He went to the door, but turned back. “Hey, it’s good to see you awake, but try not to over do it. Don’t hurt yourself.” And then he left. 

The Hunter sighed and sank back into the pillow. It was a comfortable bed, he’d admit. 

Some time later, Solas opened the door, carrying a small bag. “You’re awake. Good.” He sat down on the chair by the bed. 

“How are things out there?”

“We have the Magister under lock and key, and the mages have agreed to help us. We’ve also found some interesting information in the Magister’s study.” He helped the Hunter into a sitting position to change out his bandages. 

“Oh?”

“A some of their future plans, and more information about their current movements.”

The Hunter hissed as Solas pulled the bandages away. The skin on his chest was burned where he’d been hit, scorched and angry. It had likely been blackened before the blood had healed him. Oh. Wait. 

“I have a few questions, if you don’t mind.”

“Go ahead.”

“What exactly did you do?”

“What do you mean?” 

“It looked to me like you reached into her chest and tore her heart out.”

“That about sums it up.”

Solas froze. “The other one as well?”

“It’s the fastest way I know to down an enemy.”

“You’re not actually the first guy I’ve ever known to ever do that.” They both turned as Varric pushed the door open, holding a tray with what looked like a bowl of soup on it. 

“You know someone?”

“A friend of mine, from Kirkwall. Don’t know where he is now, but I don’t think he’s a… what, Hunter they said?”

“Indeed.” Solas turned back to his bandages. “I can’t say I’ve ever seen anything like what that woman did.”

“Like stars,” the Hunter muttered. “Painful ones. Pretty, though.”

“That’s one way to put it, I guess.” Varric set the tray on the desk. “Need a hand?”

“Perhaps.” Solas pulled a fresh roll of bandages from the bag, along with a few different salves, before he stood to see the back of the Hunter’s neck. 

“Still?” Varric walked over. 

“No, they’ve stopped.”

“Stopped what?”

“Bleeding. First day and a half they wouldn’t quit. We thought you were gonna bleed out.”

“This might sting.”

The Hunter hissed as Solas used a cloth to gently clean the area around the runes, but didn’t move. 

“Your mark as well, to a lesser extent. I had hoped the brands were only physical, but they carry some kind of magic to them as well, something your mark reacted strongly to.”

Solas lightly brushed a layer of salve over the runes, but didn’t cover them yet. “Your mark?”

The Hunter held out his hand, the faint scar of the physical mark a deep red, like layers of skin had been scraped or burned away. 

Solas applied the same salve, then capped it and set the jar back in the bag. He took another jar out, this one more of a bottle than a jar, and poured some of its contents onto his hand. “For your side and chest.”

This one was nice and cool, unlike the other. 

“Your back is heavily bruised where you landed on it, and you’ve cracked several ribs, but you’ve managed to keep from breaking anything.”

Solas re-wrapped his chest and neck, and then the palm of his hand. “You can wander if you must, though I’d prefer you didn’t. If you do, avoid anything more strenuous than the stairs. If anything starts bleeding again, come back here and send someone to find me.” Then he left, taking the bag with him. 

The Hunter sighed and leaned back. Wonderful. At least he could wander this time. 

“You know, if you stopped getting hurt, you wouldn’t be bed-bound all the time.”

“I’d rather I get hurt than anyone else. Seems I’m good at surviving impossible situations.”

“Hah. I had a friend like you in Kirkwall. Got up to the craziest shit, and always walked away fine. Well, mostly fine.”

“You’ll have to introduce us.”

“Maybe one day.”

The Hunter ate his soup while Varric finished his letter. He’d just set the tray aside when Sera burst through the door. 

“Quit almost dying!” 

He blinked. “Hey.”

“Don’t you ‘hey’ me, you almost died again, you arse! We- we thought…”

The Hunter glanced at Varric, hoping for help, but he only sighed. “She’s right, you know. It’s been a long couple of days.” He stood up from his chair and stretched. “If you’re planning to stay, I’m gonna see what’s going on out there.”

Sera didn’t look like she was going anywhere, so Varric went. 

The Hunter sighed. “It- it was never my intent to worry you. Or for… whatever happened here,” he gestured to the runes on his neck, “to happen. I’ll try not to do it again.”

Sera sat down on the bed. “You’d better not.” Her anger was spent, for now. “You don’t even seem bothered by it.”

He sighed. “I’m sorry I’ve worried you so much.”

“No!” Maybe her anger wasn’t spent after all. “Don’t be sorry for me, be worried you almost died! Died, Sukest!”

Oh. “Kind of normal for me. But,” he added hastily at the glare she gave him, “I’ll try not to do it again.”

She slouched. “You said that last time.”

“To be fair, I didn’t expect anyone here to be throwing stars at me. Those hurt.”

She snorted. “For sure. Cassandra’s gonna need a new shield.”

Cassandra? “What happened?”

“She blocked one of them. Prob’ly would have hit me otherwise. Melted her shield, she had to toss it.”

“Is she alright?”

“Her arm’s burned, but it’s not bad.”

“Is anyone else hurt?”

“A few scrapes here and there, but nothing bad. I got off lucky. Most of us did. She was aiming for you, we were just in the room.”

He sighed and leaned back into the pillows. That was good, at least. 

“Not those other guys, though. The others… they’re in a meeting, trying to decide what to do.”

“A few corpses that hard to deal with?”

“Not the bodies, no. The weapons, and the lady in white. No one’s ever seen anythin’ like it. And…”

“And?”

“That thing you did? With the gun, and your hand… they’re saying it’s blood magic. But… it’s not, right?”

“I don’t know. I can’t say I know very much about blood magic. Can you do it if you’re not a mage?”

She shivered. “It… it healed you, or that’s what I heard them saying.”

“It did. It’s why I’m not dead. Took care of the worst of the burns. They look old already.”

She took a slow, deep breath, and let it out. “I don’t know either. All the mage stuff is always… over there. Away from me. I prefer it that way.” She was fidgeting. Fear? Of magic or him? It was hard to tell. 

“Well, we’re hardly going to get any answers here.” He sat up, and made to swing his legs over the edge of the bed. 

“What’re you doing? No, sit back.”

“I have to go-ahead to wander as long as I take it easy.”

She wasn’t happy, but she did let him up. “Fine. But careful, yeah?”

He stood and stretched as best he could. “Do you know where my armor went?” He had pants at least, but a shirt would be nice. 

“Oh. I dunno. From what I saw, there was um, heavy damage.”

To be expected, but inconvenient. “Let’s find out, then.”

The halls were surprisingly empty. Sera led him down to the first floor, then off to the side. He could hear voices inside, but they stopped when he opened the the door. 

The room had a large wooden table, surrounded by the rest of his companions, plus Dorian, Felix, scout Harding (when did she get here?), and a man in fine clothes he didn’t recognize. 

The room froze when he opened the door, and the new man was the first to speak. “So, this must the the Herald I’ve heard so much about.”

The Hunter glanced to Cassandra, who was standing near the door. “Sukest, this is King Alistair.”

Oh. Shit. He bowed deeply, ignoring the pain in his chest. “Your Majesty.”

“Ah, no need for that. If anything, I should be thanking you.”

The Hunter straightened carefully. A King. Alright, sure, why not. “What for, sir?”

“I’m told you defeated a Magister and his personal guard. I’d come here to evict him, and you’ve spared me quite a bit of trouble. That, and I’ve heard you’re right off death’s door for your trouble.”

“Nothing that won’t heal.” He could feel Solas’ dissatisfaction in waves. “The Magister yet lives, if you need him.”

“No, that’s alright. Your Inquisition can keep him. The Mages, too, but that’s what I’m here about.” He paused. “Please, have a seat.” He settled into his own chair. 

The Hunter did the same, glad for it. In all honestly, he probably should have followed Solas’ advice. 

“I’d come to tell the Mages that we could no longer tolerate their behavior in Ferelden, but it seems you’ve gotten here first. Looking for recruits?”

“Of a sort. We need the power to seal the Breach.”

“Right. Closing the hole in the sky is important. The Mages cannot stay in Ferelden, but the mountain villages aren’t technically in the country. I’ll leave their fate to you. I have to say though, I am curious what will become of them.”

A rather relaxed King. Personable, and not overly formal. Helpful, in this instance. He glanced again to Cassandra. Had they decided already?

“Unfortunately, we have yet to decide entirely. Certainly they will come with us back to the mountains, but the conditions under which they do so are yet to be decided.” So no, it was still up in the air. 

“We figured Sukest here should be involved in the process.” Varric was off to the side, not leaning against the wall but close to it. “It’s thanks to him we’ve gotten this far.”

“Right. Fallen out of the Fade, I’ve heard.” The King looked back to the Hunter. “How was that, by the way?”

“I’m afraid I don’t remember the fade, or anything before it.”

He blinked. “Oh. You’re an amnesiac?”

“I am.”

“So, I’ll leave it to your group to decide, but what would you do with the mages, if it were only up to you?”

Up to him? “From what I know, this war started with them. I’m afraid I don’t know the entire story, but they rebelled because of the Circles.”

Solas nodded. “Simply put, yes.”

“For people so desperate for freedom, they’ve sold themselves off rather quickly, but the last thing we need is another rebellion. Give them freedom for a time, as a kind of test, and see what they do with it. If they act reasonably, they can act as our allies.”

“And if they don’t?” The King leaned ever so slightly forwards. 

“Then we see about bringing in Templars. As I understand it, they kept the mages before, and could do it again.”

“But you still want to give them a chance, despite their choices so far?”

“I won’t pretend to understand why they did what they did, but I’d like to at least try before I judge them for it.”

The King studied him for a moment, then smiled and leaned back. “I wasn’t sure what I’d think of this Inquisition, but you seem like decent people. I can’t promise you soldiers or anything right now, but I’d like to keep in touch.”

“Of course.”

The King stood, and everyone around the table who had settled stood again. “I’m afraid it’s time I was going. The Queen will want to know what’s happened here.”

The Hunter bowed again as he passed, then straightened when he’d left. Sera stood next to him. Had she been there the whole time?

Varric walked over and looked up at Sera. “You know, when you said ‘meeting’, I didn’t think you meant with the King of Ferelden.”

The Hunter sank back into his chair. “Neither did I. I didn’t just break something important, did I?”

“On the contrary, you may have helped considerably.” Solas walked over. “You didn’t reopen anything on the way here, did you?”

“Not that I can tell.”

“How are you up and about?” Oh, right. Blackwall. The Warden. He was new here. 

“It looks worse than it is. A few burns and bruises, but nothing too serious.”

Cassandra raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been unconscious for two days.”

The Hunter shrugged, then regretted the motion. “I’ve had worse.”

“That’s not supposed to be an accomplishment, it’s supposed to make you more careful.” Sera, as insistent as always. 

Harding leaned against the table. “I thought you were on bedrest?”

“I have been, for the last two days.”

She snorted, and Solas sighed. “You would spend less time recovering if you spent less time getting injured. Speaking of, there are a few things we need to discuss.” He took a seat nearby.

“Now’s as good a time as any, I guess.” Varric also pulled out a chair. 

“Deciding what to do with the Mages?”

“Certainly something to do with mages.” Dorian slid into a nearby chair. “As it turns out, you just might be one.”

“I thought I was clear for that?” 

Solas sighed. “You are not a mage, as you have no mana, but you may have some effects on you that were laid by them.”

“Your stunt in the hall a few days ago was remarkably similar to blood magic. Not the best of things, I assume you know.” Dorian leaned back in his chair. 

“That’s the illegal kind, right? It requires blood or life force instead of… the other magical energy?”

“Mana. And yes, it’s illegal, especially down here. However, I’m told you might carry some bit of magic with you in the form of brands.”

“Is this a Tevinter practice?”

“Not one I’ve heard of, at least not like this. You don’t have mana, but you clearly performed some kind of magic. It saved your life.”

The Hunter sighed and closed his eyes. “So now we have more questions than answers.”

“We do, but very important ones.”

“Varric, you said you had a friend with similar abilities?” Solas looked to the dwarf. “Was he branded in a similar manner?”

“Kind of. Full body tattoo, but it was made of Lyrium.”

“A tattoo made of Lyrium?”

“Let him do crazy things. Tear out hearts, for one. He could step through people like they weren’t there. I don’t think they ever healed him, though.”

Dorian sat up in his chair. “A full body tattoo, made of Lyrium? An elf, by chance? White hair?”

The Hunter blinked. “Is he from Tevinter?”

Varric nodded, slowly, not taking his eyes off Dorian. “He is. A former slave. He escaped, came to Kirkwall.”

“I hear his former master chased after him. Is it true he won’t be coming back?”

“Not unless he can come back from the dead. Friend of yours?”

Dorian pulled a face. “Hardly. That man was everything the south sees in Magisters. Cruel, power hungry, and ruthless. It’s good to know he’s dead.”

Varric nodded, and his hand moved away from the crossbow on his back. When had he reached for it? “We were all glad to see him go.”

“Can you contact this friend of yours?” It would be nice to know if he was a Hunter of some kind.

“I can try. I think he’s down here somewhere, hunting slavers. I’ll see if I can get a letter to him.”

Solas sighed. “Magic from Lyrium is one thing, but your brands contain none. It was they that nearly killed you, not your burns.”

“Did the magic come from the brands, or the mark?” He held up his hand. “It kicked on at the same time.”

Solas started. “Can you tell when they activate?”

“I certainly felt it. Hard to miss that kind of healing.”

“You felt the effects, but the brands themselves? Can you feel that?”

“I can. Though, this is the first time I’ve felt them do anything.”

“My guess would be the blood.” They all turned to look at Dorian. “Your style of fighting isn’t what I would call tidy. When you reached into your opponent, it’s possible your brands siphoned their lifeblood to activate, though how a brand holds this power, I don’t know.”

“So it is unheard of until now, for someone who isn’t a mage to use blood magic this way?” Cassandra had been surprisingly quiet until now, especially given the subject of the conversation. 

“That it is. This is the first I’ve heard of it, at least.”

Varric sighed and stood. “Well, I have a letter to write. If this gets anywhere, let me know.” 

“Strange magic aside, what are we doing with the mages?”

“Your answer is as good as any we’ve come up with.” Cassandra stood. “If there are no objections, I will notify Fiona.”

No one objected, so off she went. 

Dorian hesitated. “I have to say, I’m rather curious about these brands of yours.”

The Hunter stood. “Let’s go somewhere more comfortable, then.”

Somewhere more comfortable turned out to be the room he’d left hardly half an hour ago. Solas retrieved his bag, and carefully unwound the bandages around his neck. 

Dorian hissed through his teeth. “And you’ve had these for how long?”

“Since before I woke after falling from the Fade.”

“It certainly doesn’t look that way.”

“Do you recognize the shapes?” Solas carefully wiped away that morning’s salve. 

Dorian leaned in. “The shape certainly carries some significance, magical or otherwise, or it wouldn’t be so precise, but I can’t say I know what kind. Clearly brands, though, the kind that uses a hot iron, not magic. The uneven inflammation around the edges and the way it’s settled in the grooves gives it away.”

“Hmm. You said the mark activated at the same time?”

“It did.”

“How so?”

“It lit up, burned the way it does while I close rifts, but… angrier, somehow?”

Solas frowned. “Does it pain you when you close rifts?”

Yes, but that was a conversation for another day. Or never. “Sometimes. Nothing major, even by other’s standards.”

“Does it bother your brands when it does so?”

“Not to this extent. Some minor irritation, hardly noticeable.”

Solas took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “If anything else activates either the mark or your brands, if they so much as glow, let me know immediately.”

The Hunter nodded. “Alright.”

Solas picked up his bag and left. Dorian followed, but lingered in the doorway for a moment before leaving. 

The Hunter slumped back against the pillows, then hissed. It hurt, but it was still more comfortable than sitting up. 

He’d only meant to lie back for a few minutes, but he must have been more tired than he thought, and was asleep a few minutes later.


	26. He’s not lovin’ it

Enough was enough. These questions needed answers, and needed them badly. Their other methods of investigation had turned up nothing so far. 

Solas stepped through another patch of reeds. 

Admittedly, when he’d decided to walk in the Herald’s dreams, this hadn’t been what he was expecting. 

At first, he’d thought it was just another part of the fade, that he hadn’t yet found the right place, but there was far more structure here than it had seemed at first. 

Warped, swirling stone surrounded him, uneven ground formed into high walls and deep grooves. Tall stone obelisks stood at irregular intervals, though some had fallen with time. 

There were pale, withered trees every so often. This place could perhaps be the echo of a forest. 

The uneven cobbled ground was covered with scattered clumps of what appeared to be gravestones, the inscriptions detailed but illegible. 

He was still clearly in the fade, but a strange part, one he had not often visited. The sky, or what counted as it, was a pale beige, rather than green. He was on what appeared to be a floating island. 

Further down, he could see another, smaller island holding the ruins of a walled tower with some strange structure in the center, and past that, the beginning of what looked to be an unfortunate harbor, broken ship masts standing above the fog. 

Was this how the Herald dreamed? Fragmented, distorted beyond measure? He’d yet to see the man himself, but had followed his consciousness here. 

He’d appeared in a nearby cave, shallow and nearly empty, save for a single lamp of strange design. 

He made his way down the closest thing to a path he’d found. The landscape was vague, but the details were incredible. He would expect a dream like this from an artist. It didn’t feel real, but every little thing was in place. There were no blurred areas, where things had been half-forgotten. Everything was crisp, the lines clean. 

Further in, the walls rose, forming a small valley. The ground was dotted with small iron lanterns, sitting on the floor at irregular intervals. He hadn’t seen them at first, hidden among the thick clusters of gravestones, made of plain metal and bearing no inscriptions or designs, but they had an odd power to them, and were lit by blue flames. 

The other thing that surprised him were the corpses. 

He’d nearly tripped over the first, only a dozen or so feet from the cave. From a distance, it could almost be mistaken for a person, but the illusion was easily broken up close. 

It was too tall, and unnaturally slender. It was furred, the matted silver covering all but its misshapen face and hands. It’s face was mostly mouth, full of sharp teeth and sideways on its head. It’s hands were long and thin, unnaturally so, and bore impossibly long claws. 

Its back was covered in long, rugged slashes, as though torn apart by a flail. Uneven, the skin torn as much as it was cut. 

It had ribs poking through the skin on its chest, but the skin had grown around them, like they had been like this in life, instead of being exposed by rotting flesh. 

Because despite how fowl it smelled, the thing wasn’t decomposing. It could have died minutes ago, the stick nearby on the ground that must have been a torch still smoldering. 

He knew with a degree of certainty that it had been the Herald who’d killed it. This was his dream, and though he wasn’t here, he could feel what the man had felt, though it was distorted. 

It wasn’t the only such corpse. Further from the cave, the ground was dotted with them. Some bore the same jagged cuts as the first, while others had puncture wounds, from either something like the Herald’s ranged weapon or something considerably larger. 

A fist, perhaps. They could have been killed in the same manner as those he killed in Redcliffe. 

The Herald had traveled through here many times, but the more common trails were the easiest to follow. The path split and twisted, leading up hills and into ravines, but the main path led him down to a large, shallow pit, full of sludge, with a few obelisks scattered throughout. 

The pit stank terribly of rot and brine, but he could see and feel the path continue on the other side. There were small caves on the sides, and small mounds rising up out of the muck, but aside from a quick sweep the Herald had paid them no mind. 

He sighed, deeply, and slogged through it. It was shallow, at least. The Herald, he could feel, had been no happier about it than he was. 

This place had its share of corpses as well, but not the same creatures as before. Long, pale tendrils, like overgrown slugs, lie in the muck, the same torn skin as before. At first, he thought them to be some kind of plant, until he saw several moving in the distance. 

They were a good ways off, and didn’t seem to have noticed him. Some kind of demon, or the memories of them. The Herald had been apprehensive, and only killed the few that approached, simply running past the rest. Solas was content to leave them be. 

The path on the other side held a much taller creature, the caricature of a man. Twice his height and broad shouldered, but no head to speak of. A face, but resting where a neck should. He stepped around it. The Herald had been almost happy to kill it. 

The next thing he heard was singing, a warbling, echoed tune. Almost from nowhere, and without looking for it, he felt the Herald’s terror, almost overwhelmingly. Whatever was singing that haunting song, he should avoid it however possible. 

Even the echo of the Herald’s terror left him breathless with its intensity. This time, at least, he would skirt around the source. 

The Herald, luckily, had found a way to do so. A few ledges, wrapped around the edge of this island. 

He carefully dropped down a level, then another. The singing was well above him now, but the echoed terror remained. 

Solas carefully made his way down the path, this one thankfully clear of corpses. The path sloped up, closer to the singing as it went, and now he could hear the footsteps as well. 

The path went around a corner, away from it, but he would have to cross a small open space first, in view of the creature. 

He waited until its footsteps retreated to cross the gap, and it didn’t seem to notice him. 

He wanted to look back, to see what haunted the Herald, but something told him not to, that the Herald himself had tried, and had not found his answers. 

Solas resolved to come back here, and moved on. 

Another pit, full of the pale slugs, but not one the Herald had gone through more than once or twice. The path along the edge was more than wide enough for him to go around it. 

He crossed a small bridge, leading to the smaller island, holding the tower ruins he’d seen earlier and the strange structure within, only to find that it wasn’t a structure at all. 

The creature was enormous. A single one of its hands, of which it had eight, was the size of a grown man. Its long arms, which he’d mistaken for carvings from up above, lie on the ground around it, as though it had tried to catch itself when it had fallen forwards, but lacked the strength. 

Its head was oblong, covered in a netted carapace of bone. Its chest and arms were covered in delicate, pale marks, and the entire being hummed with an incredible power. Not mana, not even close, but a kind of power he’d come to associate with the Herald’s brands. This was the power the woman in white had used. 

But what scared him was not the impressive size or power of the being, but that this too was only a corpse, lying in the mud, and that the Herald had been very satisfied with himself.

The long, slender arms were covered in the same brutal slashes as everything else. These covered primarily the lower arms, but the hands and wrists all bore the same marks. The thing was holding two of its own arms in its hands. Had it torn them off? The gaping wounds on its back seemed to imply so, but why?

Out of fear, and desperation, the creature’s echo whispered. Fear of what? The Herald?

Its head, too, bore the sights of attack, the bone cage cracked, smashed through in some places. 

The Herald had come here, to this strange place, and hacked this creature apart. He felt with certainty that this thing’s death marked the end of the Herald’s time here. He had gone afterwards, and had not returned. 

But why had he killed it? What purpose had its death served?

‘The Chalice’, whispered the creature’s remains. ‘He has taken the chalice.” 

But the Herald had known nothing of any treasure. He had killed it because it was here, because he could. 

Past the creature, in the ruined tower, sat another lamp, like in the cave. It glowed softly, the stained glass casting a pale purple light on the carved walls. Now that he felt for it, this too carried a strange power to it. 

Solas turned away, and went back to the main island. If the Herald could kill something like this, something tall and powerful and proud, what could he have to fear? What could inspire such terror?

The singing thing held those answers. The Herald’s terror grew as he approached, but he swept it to the back of his mind. 

He rounded the corner just as the thing approached, and he got a clear view of it, just as it got a clear view of him. 

It stood and walked upright on two legs, but this thing too was only a caricature of a person. 

It wore a ragged dress, stained beyond repair, covered in blood and viscera. Its arms hung limply against its front, the ends of the sleeves clumped with blood. Where its head should have been, there was a bloated mass of flesh, dangling tendrils across its shoulders. 

It stopped walking when it saw him, and for a moment, neither of them moved. The mass on its shoulders was covered in huge dark eyes, and each one stared at him. The singing stopped, and every ounce of Solas’ being told him that he should run, that it had been a mistake to come here. 

It was not the Herald’s terror that held him frozen now, but his own. 

The thing in front of him took several long, delicate strides towards him. It stopped in front of him, and reached forwards, not with the thin, delicate arms at its sides, but with its true arms, long and thick, from its mass of eyes. 

These slender, clawed hands reached for him, and would have caught him had he not stumbled backwards at the last moment. As it was, the claws cut through his robes, burned where they reached the tops of his arms and shoulders. 

The thing screamed, piercing and shrill, and stepped forwards towards him as he stumbled back. 

His head buzzed and pounded, the creature in front of him flickering in and out of clarity. It reached him, knelt down in front of him, and he could see now the many small mouths below its eyes. 

It reached for him, hungry and menacing, and he sat bolt upright in his bed, shaking and breathing heavily. 

He took a few moments to gather himself before he glanced around the room. Varric was, thankfully, still asleep, and he could still see the night sky through the small window. 

The phantom pains of the thing’s claws were fresh on his shoulders, but it felt much less like phantom pain and more like real pain as he stood. 

Carefully, he pulled his shirt down one of his shoulders, and froze at the sight of long, thin, surprisingly deep cuts, paralyzed by a kind of fear he hadn’t felt in a very, very long time. 

Once he’d collected himself, he left the room and went towards the infirmary. He glanced into the Herald’s room on the way past, but he remained asleep. 

Luckily, it was the middle of the night, and the infirmary was empty. He was able to dress the wounds in privacy. 

That taken care of, he started for the room in the basement they’d set the Herald’s things in. 

He opened the box, and felt around for the small, scorched notebook the man carried with him. An invasion of privacy, but he had to be sure. 

The notebook he’d only seen once before was filled with foreign writing and hurried drawings. 

As he flipped through pages, he saw a few beasts, large, humanoid things, but terrible misshapen, and not his goal. 

A few minutes later, he found what he was looking for. A tall tower, surrounded by a warped landscape, and a large, many armed thing bearing down on the artist. 

It was, without a doubt, the same huge thing he had seen in his dreams, though the one on the page was very much alive. 

A small scribble at the bottom of the page, hardly legible, read ‘Amygdala’. Was that its name? The next page had an ornate goblet, shaped like a skull, this one called ‘Loran’, and then the distorted cityscapes and beasts resumed. 

He closed the book with shaking hands and set it carefully back at the bottom of the box. 

He had more questions than answers, but the questions were better, at least, or so he hoped. He set the box back on the shelf, and made his way back to his room. He already knew he wasn’t sleeping again tonight, but at least there he could collect his thoughts with little fear of being interrupted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little_Miss_Winter_Lantern_Just_Wanted_A_Snack.txt


	27. It’s enough to scare anyone, really.

They would stay in Redcliffe for two more days before making the journey back to Haven to seal the Breach. They said it was to round up the Mages, who would leave a few days after the Hunter’s group, but the Hunter was pretty sure it was also to give him recovery time. 

He still got concerned looks while he was wandering the halls, but at least no one stopped him. It was late in the day, past noon when he woke. He made his goal for the rest of the day to find where they’d put his things. The others (or at least, Varric and Sera) had danced around the issue, likely to avoid his reaction, so he was pretty sure the armor had taken more than a good deal of damage. 

The upper floors were full of servants and soldiers, people who gave him concerned looks or tried to engage him in conversation, so he’d gone below ground. So far, he’d found a few rooms of storage, the dungeons, and now Dorian and Felix. 

“I didn’t expect to see you down here.” Dorian had jumped nearly through the roof when the Hunter had opened the door out to the hall, but managed to keep his voice even. “What a… pleasant surprise,” he said, looking rather like this new development was anything but pleasant. “It’s just as well, I suppose. I had something I wanted to ask you.”

Felix gave the mage a look, like the two of them had discussed this already, but didn’t say anything. 

“Of course.”

“It seems the people here had some way of healing the Blight. I know you’ve lost your memory, but if you were to see their equipment, do you think you would remember how it worked?” 

Oh. He’d never learned exactly how all the equipment worked, but it was worth a shot. “I can at least take a look, but I can’t promise anything.”

“Marvelous. Felix?”

Felix sighed. “This way, then.”

He led them further into the basement, down a few unlit side corridors and to a rather unassuming door. He pushed to door open and set the lantern he’d taken off the wall at some point on a table. 

The room itself was nothing fancy, though the Hunter recognized the equipment. A set of tall drips with several empty bottles on each, well maintained, next to a pair of examination tables. A a large hutch with its upper display case full of bottles, and several bookcases full of bottles and loose papers lined the walls.

Off to one side there was a large table with several chairs, covered in books, papers, and empty glasses. The lower drawers of the hutch held bandages, spare needles, gauze, antiseptic, and a few other bits and pieces. 

Overall, it was a decently stocked clinic. A good number of bottles were different varieties of blood, from mundane to some of the better qualities. One shelf even held a few bottles of a nicer variety of blood cocktails, to drink instead of heal with. 

“Any resurgent memories?” Dorian almost dared to sound hopeful, in contrast to Felix, who found a tinderbox quietly lit a few of the small lanterns dotting the room with a practiced hand. He’d done this before, then. 

“Hmm.” The Hunter trailed his hand over a few of the better quality vials, set next to a case of sedatives. “Which of these did they normally use?”

Felix blinked, and stood from the chair he’d settled in. He went to a different shelf and picked up a small wooden box, missing its lid. Gathered, likely for convenience. “These. Occasionally they’d use one of the blue ones.” He nodded towards a shelf primarily taken up by blue elixirs. 

The box itself didn’t have anything special in it. A few vials of lower tier blood and several bottles of decently refined serum, though he wouldn’t call it high quality. 

“Injected or swallowed?”

“Usually injected.”

“Through the drip or a syringe?”

Dorian blinked. “Drip?”

The Hunter moved to it. The tubing was kept on a shelf nearby, neatly coiled and already disinfected. There were spares on the shelf nearby, the coils neatly stacked. He set a hand on the pole. “This.”

“These with the syringe,” Felix said, picking up one of the blood vials, “and this with the drip.” He held up one of the serum bottles. 

That made sense. The serum would be a slower but more powerful effect, it would be better to spread it out in Felix’s body.

Dorian picked up the bottle. “Serum Simplex Quo Conflatur?”

“Simple refined serum.” 

They both stared at him. 

“It’s Latin.” Did they not know Latin here? “For medical purposes.” He gestured at the shelf. “Most of these will be in Latin. Probably most of the documentation too.”

“Latin. A language?”

“Yes. Do you not know it?” Either Dorian was never taught the language (unlikely, given the way he carried himself) or Latin didn’t exist here.

“No.” He went back over to the table. “So these books…?”

The Hunter went over. A few books on plants, animals, some documentation on the plants and animals here, and some searching revealed a few scratched notes on Felix’s treatment. “These are on your treatments.” He nodded to Felix. 

Dosage information, processes used, and a clear, strict warning that the disease was not to be cured, only suppressed, lest they lose their hold on the Magister, or ‘the idiot mage’, as he was called here. 

“Something the matter?” 

His anger must have shown, and oh, was he angry. Furious, even. “They weren’t trying to cure you.”

“They…ah.” Dorian’s face changed to one of resignation.

The Hunter, fighting down his anger, not wanting to point it at the wrong person, turned to Felix. “They weren’t trying to clear the Blight, they were only trying to slow it down to keep their leash intact.”

Felix sighed and slouched into a chair. “Somehow, that isn’t surprising. The one in charge, the woman with the silver mask, she’d always get mad at the others when I made too much progress.”

“So they did the treatments, not her?”

“It was mostly them. She only came by to check in every once in a while, and to check on my general progress.”

Dorian sighed heavily and took a seat. “So that’s it, then. There isn’t a cure, just a way to slow it down.”

“I wouldn’t say that. How often were these treatments, and when was your last one?”

“Weekly. I had one… four days ago.”

The Hunter went back to the hutch and started rifling through bottles. A better serum, to start with. Here. Not quite as good as what Iosefka had given him, but so much better than what he’d had. 

And there, on the upper shelf, a wooden box. De sanguine sanctorum, the blood of the holy. This would certainly get the job done. He pulled it down carefully, mindful of his side, which ached uncomfortably when he moved.. Several dozen vials, neatly sealed. More than enough. He went back to the hutch. 

“Looking for something in particular?”

“A small tube, probably leather. It should have a few needles, and their attachments.”

“I might know where that is.” Felix stood and started for another shelf. 

“You’re going to adjust the equipment?” Dorian picked himself up.

“Not significantly.”

“Here.” Felix held up a rolled up tube of leather, held closed with a silver buckle. 

“Fantastic.” The Hunter ducked down to a lower shelf for the disinfectant. Felix, with some notion of what was going on, took a seat on the examination table. 

Dorian blinked. “Are we doing this now?”

“I don’t see why not.” The Hunter poured a small amount of antiseptic on a cloth and tossed it to Felix, then started on disinfecting the needles and syringe casing. “From what I know about the Blight, it’s not something that will wait.”

He picked up one of the vials and popped the top off, pouring it into the syringe and snapping the needle on. He tapped out the air and turned to face Felix, who had taken off his overshirt. 

“Is this… safe? Should you be doing- sweet Maker, what is that?!” Dorian stood, unsure, looking back and forth. 

“Reasonably so.” The Hunter carefully injected the blood, then pressed a piece of gauze (floccus coorum, but who had time for a name like that) to his arm as he pulled the needle out. “Hold this.”

Felix pressed on the gauze while the Hunter got the bandages. He wrapped Felix’s upper arm, then went back to the other table for the serum and started preparing the drip.

Dorian, who had taken a moment, caught his breath. “So, might I ask exactly what you’re doing?” He sounded strained. Over a few needles?

“It’s alright.” Felix smiled. “This is what they did too. I think he’s better at it, though.”

“Does it hurt?”

“It pinches a little. It’s an odd feeling, but not painful, really.”

The Hunter finished setting up and gathered the short length of tube. “Ready?”

Felix held out his arm, and the Hunter carefully slid the needle in, then tied it in place. 

“And now, we wait.”

“Does this happen every time?” Dorian stared at the needle.

“More often than not. Sometimes it’s just the first injection.”

Dorian closed his eyes, and took a few deep breaths before he opened them again. 

The Hunter went back to the box of saint’s blood and picked up a vial, turning it over in his hand. 

“Is that one… particularly interesting?”

“No, just weighing my options.”

“And what options are those?”

“I’m getting really tired of being injured.” The Hunter popped the cork out of the vial and downed it. Oh, that was fantastic. He’d worry about explaining his miraculous recover later. 

“Can you just drink it like that? Instead of… injecting it?” The mage glanced at Felix. 

“Hmm. It works differently. Better to inject it for sicknesses.”

“Then why drink it?”

“I’d need another needle to inject it. For physical injuries drinking it will work just as well.”

“It speeds healing?”

“That it does.”

“By how much?”

“Hard to say, exactly. One of these books might tell you. A fair amount, though.” He put the lid back on the box and set it back on the shelf, then sanitized the syringe he’d used on Felix.

“So you remember this? This equipment, and- and how it can be used?”

“No, not really. Looking at it, I can see how it works. It’s intuitive. If you were to ask me what was here before I’d gotten a look, I couldn’t have told you, but I can see which pieces go where. This tube hangs here, this bottle goes here-”

“And that little piece there,” Dorian interrupted, “goes into someone’s flesh. I’m not certain I believe you’ve walked into this room and merely guessed the exact use of this....machine.”

The Hunter sighed and started shuffling through the papers on the table. “Did they have other rooms like this?”

“If they did, I never saw them. This whole hall was theirs to use. The darkness never seemed to bother them.” Felix fidgeted idly, but was careful not to jostle his arm. 

He picked up what looked like a journal. Meticulous observations on plants and their uses, comparisons of plants he knew and plants he didn’t, written in careful, measured lines across the pages. A study of the plants here and the plants back home. In just a few pages he found possible substitutions, a few interesting combinations, and a few other odd notes, written in tidy lines of Latin. 

He was out of practice, but he could read most of it. He settled in one of the chairs and started flipping through the pages. 

“So, now we wait?”

“For a time. A half hour, perhaps.” 

“Not to appear ungrateful, but would you mind the presence of another healer?”

“You can bring someone if you want to. Anyone in mind?”

“I believe the one you brought with you is still here.”

“Solas? He’s still upstairs. You can get him, if it’ll make you feel better.”

“Right.” Dorian made for the door. 

“Can you get back here on your own?” Felix adjusted his legs on the table. 

“Don’t you worry about me, I’ll be back in no time.” He managed to keep his composure until he had the door closed, but the Hunter heard him break into a sprint halfway down the hall. 

The Hunter settled in his chair, glancing over at Felix and the drip every so often. The blood he’d taken had helped, he could already tell. Should he take another? No, he should at least wait for Solas to get here. 

It was about fifteen minutes before he heard footsteps and hushed voices coming down the hall. The door opened to reveal Dorian and a rather harried Solas, followed by... Cassandra? 

The Hunter set a paper in the journal to mark his place and closed it as the newcomers took in the room. 

Solas glanced around the room, eyes falling on the Hunter. “Ah, Sukest. There you are.”

“Were you looking for me?”

“You could say that.” Cassandra crossed to room, over to Felix. “What in…”

“Careful. That can go badly if you don’t release the catch first.” There was a small catch, not quite a clamp, to hold the needle in place. 

“I take it this is the treatment for the Blight?” Solas took the chair next to the Hunter. 

“It should be, though from their notes I’d say they were purposefully only treating it, not curing it. Had to keep a leash, I guess.”

Solas picked up a sheaf of papers. “And these?”

“Some notes on plants and animals, some of the on the medicines here. Interesting, if you can manage long paragraphs of Latin.”

“Latin?” Cassandra raised an eyebrow. 

“A language.”

“How interesting. I have never heard of Latin.”

“It’s a scholar’s language, for the most part.”

“What brought you down here?”

“I was wandering and ran into these two. The ones who were treating him are dead, so I thought I’d take a look at the equipment, just in case.”

“You can use it?”

“It all looks familiar. I’ve managed the basics, at least. Their instructions helped.” He lifted the notes on Felix. 

“And this…” Cassandra gestured to the drip. 

“It should be done soon.” The bottle was almost empty. Five more minutes, maybe. “The medicine is more effective delivered gradually.”

“I’m told you also used some.” Solas eyed one of the empty bottles on the table. 

“I have.”

“To what effect?”

The Hunter carefully untucked the edge of the bandages covering his burns. Already it looked calmer, like it had happened a week ago instead of just three days. “It should continue to work.”

“When did you take it?”

“20 minutes ago, give or take a few.”

Dorian let out a soft gasp as he unwound the bandages. The bruise on his side was almost gone, and the persistent ache in his ribs had eased considerably. 

For a moment, Solas only stared. Then, “How much do you know about the nature of this… cure?”

“Not much, admittedly.”

“So you came down here, found a potion of vague familiarity, and decided to drink it?”

“Well, when you put it like that…”

Solas sighed. “Perhaps let us know first next time. A second opinion can be valuable. It’s worked this time, but it might not always.”

“It’s worked so far. Remembered reflexes and vague ideas of places and things are about all I have. I had armor, but I’ve yet to get a clear answer about where it went.” 

The Hunter crossed his arms. He would like to get his things back. If he couldn’t be in the body he’d grown up in, he’d at least like something to remember his past by. 

Solas winced slightly. The Hunter was pretty sure the armor had taken heavy damage, but with luck some of his other things had survived. 

“Has no one returned your things?” Cassandra was leaning against the empty examination table, her bandaged arm held close. “I will warn you, your armor took a good deal of damage, but the rest of your things are fine, if a bit scorched in places.”

He gave a sigh of relief. “Scorched is definitely preferable to incinerated.” He glanced over at Felix’s drip, then stood. “I think you’re about done.”

He grabbed the square of gauze he’d set out, and carefully disconnected the drip, sliding the gauze into place before wrapping it carefully. 

Solas’ eyes widened at the needle, and he stood to get a closer look. “How does this work?”

“It’s more effective to send the medication straight into the blood when treating disease. If it were a wound, I would apply it like a salve.”

”And yet you decided to drink yours?” Cassandra raised an eyebrow. 

“With a wound like this it would probably have been better to inject it. Drinking it has a similar effect, though it works a bit slower. With something like the Blight, I thought it better to hurry.”

He started disinfecting the needles and tubing as Solas watched intently. Felix pulled the bottle from its place on the drip and set it nearby. 

It only took a few minutes to clean everything and set it back where he’d found it. 

“What are those?” Dorian leaned over his shoulder. 

“Hmm?” The Hunter was sliding the needles back into their case. “The needles?”

“Yes. Those. You use them to put the medicine directly into the blood?”

“Right.” He pulled one back out of the case. “See, it’s hollow, but very sharp. As long as you do it right, it just leaves a little pin prick. Hardly noticeable.”

“And if you do it wrong?”

“That depends on how wrong you do it.”

“Fair enough.”

Solas, who was over by the shelf, picked up one of the blue elixirs. “You can read these?”

“That one in particular? No. The label looks more for decoration than for... labeling.”

“Do you know what it does?”

“Anesthesia. In low doses, it numbs you. In high doses, it’ll knock you out.”

Solas set it carefully back on the shelf. “What have you used here?” He gestured towards the drip.

“A serum. Higher grade than what they were using.” He pulled an identical bottle off the shelf. “Before that, an injection to speed things along.”

“An injection of what?”

He pulled the box back off the high shelf. “Highest grade they have here. De sanguine sanctorum.” 

“This ‘Latin’ sounds almost like Ancient Tevene.” Dorian looked into the box. “The pronunciation, at least. Could they have a common linguistic base?”

The Hunter shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. Probably better, actually.” He carefully lifted one of the small vials.

Felix brought over the other box, of what he’d been using before, and lifted a vial for comparison. It was significantly larger, the vial plain and corked. 

The holy vials, on the other hand, were delicately inscribed, the seals leafed in silver. “Is the decoration an indicator of quality?” Dorian picked one up gingerly between two fingers. 

“They’re holy.”

“Holy? Any particular reason?”

“De sanguine sanctorum translates roughly to ‘the holy blood’.”

“Holy blood? Some miracle cure?”

“You could call it that.”

“If I may?” Solas picked up an empty glass from the table. 

“Be my guest.” 

Solas carefully uncapped a vial and poured it into the glass. He lifted it close to his face, paled, and set it down with an ever so slightly trembling hand. 

“Is something wrong?” 

“When you say ‘holy blood’, do you mean it figuratively or literally?”

The Hunter blinked. “Literally.” When no one said anything, he continued. “Blessed blood, with remarkable healing properties.”

Dorian set his vial down. “Human blood?” He took a step back, looked around the clinic. "This isn't a clinic at all, is it then? This is a blood mage's larder, and I've let you strap Felix into it. All of these bottles are human blood."

“I would hope so. Animal blood is unclean, unsuitable for transfusions.”

The rest of the room stared at him, minus Felix, who didn’t seem terribly surprised.

Dorian picked up on that. “Did you know about this?”

Felix looked at the floor. “One of them dropped a bottle, once. The smell is… quite distinctive, though I was never sure if it was human.”

“Human blood? Bottled and sold, like some kind of potion? Where do they get it? From who?” Cassandra, who had been calm moments before, was now anything but. 

The Hunter blinked. “I don’t know. From people, I assume. It’s best not to think about it.”

“You ought to think of it, you drank it!”

“Of course I did.”

“... of course?” Dorian stared like the Hunter had grown a second head. “Of course?! It’s blood! Human blood! That’s not something you just… drink!”

“And yet, here we are.” He picked up one of the cocktails from the shelf at his hip. “The people here, at least, had a taste for it.”

“Then that…” Cassandra was struggling for words, though he wasn’t sure if it was out of shock or anger. 

The Hunter pulled one of the smaller glasses closer and poured a measure into it, then set the bottle on the table. Thick, decently prepared. He liked the smell, but the others probably didn’t. Definitely didn’t, judging by their range of expressions.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Dorian spoke slowly, carefully, “but that does appear to be bottled the same way we bottle spirits.”

“It is a spirit. Intoxicating, drunk for recreational purposes, generally enjoyable.” He picked up the glass and made a mock toast with it. 

He’d have drunk it, had Cassandra not stopped him. She looked angry, but there was something else to her expression he couldn’t read. “Do you truly see nothing wrong with this? With drinking the blood of others, of people who might have died to create this?”

He laughed bitterly. “That's just it, isn’t it? I get that I probably should, but I don’t. I can’t afford to worry about that.” He was angry now, but where had this anger come from? He’d been fine a few moments ago. “Is this so foreign to you?”

Solas carefully reached forwards and took the glass from his hand, setting it on the table. “Yes.”

The Hunter sighed, and collapsed into a nearby chair, sudden anger gone as quickly as it had come. “We’ll add this to the list of other things I shouldn’t do, then. Right up there with- with tearing out hearts and firing guns.”

“Have I missed something?” Varric stood in the doorway, looking unsure whether or not to come in. Half the room jumped when he spoke. 

Cassandra whirled to face him. “What are you doing here?”

“I just followed the shouting. What’s going on?” He walked up to the table, then stopped when he saw the glasses of blood. “Do I want to know?”

“You haven’t missed much.” Sukest leaned forwards, bracing himself on the table. 

Varric looked around at the rest of the room, then at the people in it. “Oh, I don’t know, I’d say I’ve missed quite a bit.”

“The people that were here,” Solas explained, “Were easing the Magister’s son with a concoction made primarily of human blood.”

"That all sounds almost believable. Don't forget that they also drank it like a fine wine, that's a rather important part of this picture. It’s..." The Mage, apparently too upset to continue, fiddled with the end of his mustache. 

Varric blinked. “Well, is that all?” Because what they really needed here was sarcasm. 

The Hunter snorted. “First blood magic, then blood healing. Is everything blood-related illegal here?”

“I wouldn’t say this ‘blood healing’ is illegal, but unheard of altogether. Though, anything like this-“ Solas gestured to the box on the table, “would likely be seen as some kind of blood magic.”

“Things can never be simple, can they?” The Hunter sat up, leaning against the back of the chair. “What now? Blood magic is evil, but this is important. People like Felix will die without it.”

Dorian flinched, but said nothing. 

“I wouldn’t say evil. Powerful, easily misused, but a tool, the same as all other magic.” Solas, still wary, took a deep breath. “It is magic that does not use the fade, but instead relies on blood and life force. Many who use it take the lives of others to strengthen their magic and thus it is forbidden.”

“That is not the only reason why it is forbidden.” Cassandra glared, but not at any of them. 

“It’s the chantry thing, right?” The Hunter propped himself upon his arm. “I’ve heard about this one. Magisters used blood magic to enter the fade, it went badly, and now the blights exist.”

Dorian scoffed, but didn’t say anything. The story was probably different in Tevinter. 

“That’s the simple version. It’s not evil itself, but it’s a slippery slope.” Varric pulled himself into a chair. “I’ve got a friend in Kirkwall who uses it, a different friend,” he added quickly when Cassandra’s glare moved to him, “than the one from earlier. She’s only ever used it to try and help people.”

“Last I checked, magic of any kind requires mana to use. Something both this man,” Dorian gestured at the Hunter, “and our charming lady in white who died upstairs lack.”

“She wasn’t a mage either?” So were all of the Hunter’s Tools blood magic, then?

“No, she was not. At first we thought the had something similar to your gun, but that was not the case.” Solas stood. “We’ve much to discuss, but not everyone who should be involved is present.”

“If we’re thinking of the same people, they’re a week of travel away, and we don’t leave for another day. I’m not sure this is a conversation to have by letter.” Varric had settled back into his chair, using the table as an armrest. “Unless we just shouldn’t talk about this for the week it’ll take us to get back.”

“Is there much to talk about? Apparently I’m a blood mage, from an organization of blood mages, except none of us are actually mages. Unless any of you know how to cast magic without actually being a mage, we’re at a dead end until we find another source of information.”

“Templars use Lyrium for special abilities, don’t they? Could this be something like that?”

“Unlikely. Unless you’ve had Lyrium recently?” Solas raised an eyebrow. 

“That’s the blue potion, right? Mined as a crystal, refined for mages? No, I haven’t had any. Not that I can remember, at least. Closest I’ve been to it was the red stuff at the Breach.”

Varric straightened in his chair, eyes wide. “How close did you get?”

“Not within a few feet. You said not to touch it, so I kept my distance.”

He seemed to ease a little, not entirely dissuated from his worry. “Well, that’s something, at least.”

“Was there anything familiar about it?” Solas asked, doing his best to stay relaxed but tense all the same. “All this… equipment was familiar to you. Is Lyrium the same?”

“No, not really. It’s weird and sings, so I avoid it.”

“It… sings?” Cassandra’s anger was quickly giving way to confusion, though she had a good bit of anger left. “What do you mean it sings?”

Varric snorted. “Sure, the red stuff hums, but…”

The Hunter blinked. “Just the red?”

Solas cleared his throat. “Have you heard the blue kind?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, sure, it sounds different from the red, but it still sings.”

“It really… doesn’t.” Varric didn’t seem comforted in the slightest. “The blue kind?”

“Yeah. The kind we take off rogue Templars, and the kind the few Templars at Haven take.”

“One moment.” Dorian reached into his robes, likely for an inner pocket. “Let’s settle this.” He pulled out a sealed crystal vial. He popped the seal and shook a small amount of fine blue powder into yet another glass. 

“Refined Lyrium. Blue. And what’s this about red lyrium? Have I missed some major academic breakthrough down here?”

Solas, looking surprisingly serious, slid the glass towards the Hunter. “You say it sings?”

The Hunter sat up. “Can you… not hear it?”

“No.”

Varric laughed, but nervously. “Last I checked, normal Lyrium didn’t sing.”

“Not in a way we can hear it.” Solas, thoughtful, leaned forwards. “Can you describe it?”

“Like… chimes? Bells, maybe? Small ones. It has a melody, but I don’t think I could hum it if I tried.”

“That’s quite alright.”

“Are you serious?” Dorian looked between the two. “First this blood healing, now singing Lyrium? As far as I know, Lyrium is silent.”

“To us. Some spirits, however, have said that it has song.”

“Spirits? As in, fade spirits? Last I checked, our... friend here isn’t exactly fade-bound.”

“No, but he does carry a piece of magic that ties him to the fade rather closely. It could be what allows him to hear it.”

“But it could also be all of…” the Hunter gestured around the room. 

“Yes, it could be.”

“Then we’re back at square one, plus one strange fact.”

“Hmm. If we could get another of these… people, learn if they could hear it as well, we would know where the ability came from.”

Cassandra sighed, anger seemingly spent for the time being. “As fascinating as this might be, we are no closer to solving the issue at hand.” 

“And we probably won’t get much closer tonight.” Varric rubbed his eyes. “Let’s go back upstairs. We can debate this tomorrow, or once we’re back at Haven.”

“Tomorrow, then. Felix, do you have a key for this room? We should secure this place.”

“I don’t, but there is one. One of the people here probably had it. I’ll see if I can find it.”

Varric stood. “Shall we go, then?”

They went. Their little procession split once they reached the stairs. The Hunter went back towards him room, and Solas met him there with clean bandages. 

“A precaution at this point, but it’s better to be careful with an injury like this.” Solas bandaged his chest, forgoing the salve this time, before he left for the night. 

He’d slept until past noon that day, but it still took almost no time at all for the Hunter to fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Runes are one thing, Blood Healing is something else entirely.


	28. Not an intermission but kind of close?

Varric, the Hunter had decided, deserved the full honors and decoration of a saint. Not the bloodletting part, he wouldn’t like that, but everything else. 

Varric broke the news to Sera about the blood magic while he was asleep, which spared him the brunt of her furious spiral of anger and, likely, fear. Whether she was mad at him or the magic itself, he couldn’t tell. 

“They’re sure? Like, it’s definitely blood magic?” Sera, who had been pacing around the room and swearing for the past half-hour, finally settled enough to sit down. 

“I’m not a mage, can’t reach the fade, but I can do magic anyways. Non-fade magic is blood magic.”

“So you can- can throw fire, hit people with lightning?”

“No, I can’t do magic like, say, Solas can.”

“So you just heal yourself?”

“And tear out hearts. That part’s important.”

“Right. Can’t forget that bit.” Sera snorted. “Bonkers to forget that, but you know what this means, yeah?! They’ll friggin’ kill you because you can do that!”

“Well, they’ll probably wait until the Breach is sealed, but Chancellor might get to drag me to Val Royeaux after all.”

She stared at him, mouth agape. “But you don’t… hurt people, right?”

“I suppose I’ve never asked if tearing someone’s heart out hurts, but it probably… does.”

“Don’t be stupid.” Sera smacked his shoulder, hard. “You know what I mean. You don’t hurt people, people, right? Not normal, plain little people, just having a go about. It’s all bad people in pieces in the end.

“I hope so.” 

“You really don’t care, do you?” She stood. “You don’t care that they might kill you even if you haven’t done anything bad or blood mage-y.”

“What can I do about it? It isn’t like I’ve been falsely accused of anything. They have actual reasons to kill me other than magic they don’t understand. I might have killed their prophet-lady-thing. Divine?”

“And you have to be nice about it, don’t you?!”

“Should I not be?”

“No, I just…” she huffed and sat back down. “So, growing up, I hear all these stories about magic and blood mages. Awful, scary ones. They make magic scary, forbidden. And now I meet one of these blood mages, and you’re a decent friggin’ person! You’re nice, you help people, you drink and you laugh at jokes. You aren’t scary, not like the stories.”

“I tear out hearts and drink blood. That’s gotta be up there with some of those stories, at least.”

Sera wilted where she sat. “Kind of, I guess, but it’s different. I mean, yeah, it was scary when you killed that lady, but you were just trying to survive. You even know it’s bad, and you’re just gonna let them kill you for it!”

“What else can I do? Run? I have nowhere to go. I doubt a lot of people are going to help a blood mage except other blood mages, and I’d rather not go to them.”

“If it comes to that, you won’t have to hide with blood mages. I’ve got friends, remember?”

He blinked. “You’d do that for a blood mage? You hate magic.”

“I don’t hate it, it’s just… it’s complicated. And not for a blood mage, for my friend. We’re friends, yeah?”

Oh. That was… to be completely honest, more than he deserved. He’d done nothing but lie to these people since he’d met them. “I… thank you.”

She nodded, then stood, determined. “Did you get your stuff back yet?”

“I haven’t, no.”

“Let’s nick it, then. I’m pretty sure I know where they put it.”

There were people in the halls this time, but Sera found him a shirt somewhere, and they made for the basement as quickly as they could without drawing too much attention. 

His things, Sera had found, were in one of the lower storage rooms. The door was locked, but Sera had a way around that. She crouched at the lock and pulled a few tools from her sleeve. 

“What are those?”

“Lockpicks. Handy little bits.” The lock clicked open. “Remind me, I’ll teach you how some time.”

The room was covered in a thick layer of dust. Cabinets and shelves of boxes and trinkets lined the walls, and sheet-covered furniture took up the middle. 

Sera started combing through the shelves. “Papers, candles, string…”

The Hunter opened a cabinet. Fancy tableware, crystal glasses, embroidered napkins. 

“Here!” She pulled a box off one of the lower shelves, one that lacked the dusty coating everything else had. 

His armor was at the bottom, everything else stacked carefully on top of it. A pouch of coins, his antidote tablets, a small belt lantern, and the leather bound notebook. His throwing knives were wrapped carefully in leather, along with his Saif and Evelyn. 

His mask, at least, was only slightly scorched. He’d worried the wood might have splintered when he hit the ground. His cloak was missing a good number of cloth feathers, and the shirt had a decently sized hole burned into it. Not as bad as he’d thought, but he wouldn’t be wearing it again any time soon. 

“Everything’s here.”

“Good, good. Sorry about the armor, though.”

“I can repair it, eventually.”

“If you say so.”

Well, here was his goal accomplished, and it was hardly noon. He closed the box. “Now what?”

“Huh. Well, the people here had to be staying somewhere, right? One of them had armor like yours, maybe he had a spare?”

A bit of a reach, but it was something to do. “They had one of the lower halls, Felix said. I was there yesterday.”

“Do you remember which hall?”

It only took two wrong turns to get back to it. 

He lit the lantern he’d brought for the dark hall. “This is the place.”

Sera shivered. “Creepy. No lights?”

“Dark wouldn’t bother them much.” He started down the hall. “This one’s the clinic, but I don’t know about the others.”

“Clinic? Oh. The blood place.” 

“Locked now, I think. Nothing there but blood and books.” He tried the handle. Locked. Felix found the key, then. 

Sera went past it. “Let’s not.” She crouched at the next door. “Bring the light over, yeah?”

This one was residential. A small, plain bed in the corner, with a small wooden table next to it. A mostly empty bookcase and a dresser were set along one wall. A small but functional living space, organized but impersonal. 

A quick glance into next few rooms showed them to be nearly identical, save a few changes. A case of bullets here, a book there, a few burned out candles scattered throughout. Some seemed lived in, others set up for future occupants. 

The rooms at the end of the hall were different. The first one they opened was another impersonal guest room, but with richer decoration. The one across from it was the same. For high ranking visitors, most likely. 

They found another, richer room, with a small shrine of some sort set up. The Choir woman’s room, likely. The robes in the dresser confirmed it. 

The shrine itself was fairly simple. An inscribed crystal glass of ritual blood, markings burned into the table around it. A semi-circle of half-melted candles surrounded the whole thing. 

“Is that…?”

“Blood. A shrine.” He rifled through the cabinet. Ornamental trinkets and a large silver bell. “This is the Lady’s room.”

Pretty, but useless. He closed the cabinet. One of the drawers had a journal, written in the same neat lines as the one he’d found in the clinic, but this one was coded. Unsurprising, given the secrets it likely held. 

“Anything?” Sera was still watching the shrine warily as she flipped through books. 

“A coded journal. Leliana might be able to crack it.”

“Good enough for me.” 

The last room was simpler, but what few adornments it had were of high quality. Dark furniture, dark wall-hangings, mostly black, with a few splashes of red and gold. It had a layer of dust the other rooms lacked. No one came in here to clean. Were they afraid of crossing paths with the occupant?

The furniture was here, but mostly empty. The bookcase had a few books, but stacked neatly, ornamental spines lined up perfectly, likely for decoration rather than reading. 

“What’s this?” Sera, who had been going through the cabinet, held up a long, ornate silver chain with a red and gold crest on the end.

A crest he recognized, from the carriage at Hemwick and the castle it had taken him to. “A crest. A noble house.” 

She squinted at it. “Griffins? Those are Warden things, though.”

The Hunter shrugged. “Maybe someone else will recognize it.”

That aside, the room didn’t have much to it. Sera pulled at a banner. “Fancy. Pointless, though. Someone liked their power.”

“The other crow, I’d guess. The one that wasn’t here right now.”

“Crow? The guy with the same armor?”

“That’s the one.”

“Heh. You do kinda look like a crow, with the feathers and all.”

The Hunter gave a mock bow. “I suppose I should start heckling passerby, stealing food and jewelry from nobility.”

Sera laughed. “We can do that. Keep those twats well and on their toes.”

They went back to the other rooms, prepared but unused. They yielded only few sets of clothes, and one set of leather armor in the bottom drawer of a cabinet. 

He held up the long coat. Nearly identical to the first hunter set he’d worn. The frayed tricorn hat was set off to the side, tucked in the corner of the drawer. 

Sera whistled. “Nice. Does it fit you?” 

It would. “Want to make a scene with me?”

She grinned. “Let’s.”

He changed into it. The familiar leather was relaxing. It kept him grounded, secure. This was much better than wearing civilian clothes. He pulled the mask up over his face and stepped out into the hall. 

Sera, who had picked up one of the masked Choir hats from the Lady’s room, lifted it enough to see. “Oh, woah.”

He grinned, though she couldn’t see it. “Nice mask, keep it. Shall we?”

They didn’t run into anyone until they reached the upper manor, and the first person they saw was a servant, who jumped and nearly dropped her broom when she saw them.

The Hunter lowered his mask and put a finger to his lips, grinning. 

The servant took a moment, but recognition bloomed on her face and she smiled. “They’re looking for you, upstairs,” she whispered. 

“Thank you.” He slid the mask back up. 

The upstairs hall was empty, he heard voices as he neared the room he’d been staying in. A opened the door carefully. 

“...lost track of your Herald, who-“ Dorian broke off with what he’d later deny was a shriek. 

Blackwall whirled to face the door, moving to draw his sword. 

“Just me.” The Hunter put his hands up in a gesture of surrender once he tugged his mask down. 

Solas sighed and stood from the chair by the bed. “Where have you been?”

“Went back down to the basement. I had a chaperone the whole time.”

Sera grinned and waved from behind him. “Found all sorts of little bits and things.”

"How quaint. Tell us, what sort of interesting? You can say anything from ‘mildly unusual’ to ‘you will have to burn me, because I am a Witch of the Wilds.’" Dorian, face slightly pink, went back to leaning against the wall.

“Found the journal for the star lady and some kind of noble crest. We also found my things, and new armor.” The Hunter gestured down at his coat. 

“I’d best go tell the others you aren’t missing, then.” Blackwall moved past him, out the door, which he closed behind him. 

“I’m gone for an hour and you sound the alarm?”

“Not quite the alarm just yet. We had yet to send out soldiers.” Solas offered a half smile and swept a hand towards his medical bag. “If you don’t mind…?”

“Of course.” He shrugged off the coat and set it over the footboard of the bed, though he quietly mourned the loss. 

“A noble crest, you said?” Dorian, recovered, turned to Sera for answers. “Mind if I take a look?”

Sera fished around her bag for it and held it up by the chain. “Anything you recognize?”

Dorian grabbed the crest to steady it, then studied it for a moment. “I can’t say so, no. Though, griffins are a symbol for the Wardens. You might have better luck asking your Warden.”

Solas looked up from his bag he was searching through. “You said you found a journal?”

“Coded, I’m afraid.” The Hunter set the chestpiece on top of the coat. “I figure Leliana will be able to do more with it than I can.”

“That is her specialty.”

“Well, let’s go find the warden, shall we?” Dorian opened the door and gestured for Sera to follow. “Shall we give them some privacy?”

“Fine, fine.” She glanced at the Hunter. “I’ll be back.”

“I doubt I’m going anywhere soon.”

The pair of them left, closing the door behind them. The Hunter started unwinding his bandages. 

Solas paused. “It looks much better than I thought it would. From yesterday, if I were to hazard a guess.”

“It definitely feels better.”

“How do your ribs feel?”

“Also much better. I can stretch normally without much trouble.”

Solas hummed and re-bandages him. “Extraordinary healing aside, try not to strain yourself. We leave for Haven tomorrow, around mid-morning.”

“Are all the Mages coming with us?”

“They won’t be far behind. We’re going to ride ahead on horses with some of the scouts, while the soldiers bring the mages with the wagons. We should be back three or four days ahead of them.”

A few days to settle and prepare for the Mages to arrive before they went for the Breach. “Anything else I should know about?”

Solas hesitated ever so slightly. “There has been some discussion on the most recent occupants of this castle. Many among us desire explanation, and I cannot claim disinterest myself."

“The people like me, you mean.”

“Yes. I will not lie to you, Sukest. There is some concern. Provided we keep this quiet, you have nothing to fear for the time being.

The Hunter paused. “And if it doesn’t? Stay quiet, I mean. If word gets out.”

“There will be little I can do. I am already in an unstable position as an elven apostate, but I will do what I can.”

“Very well. Thank you, Solas.”

Solas sighed and, with his bag packed, stood. “The others will want to know where you’ve been. Sera should be back up soon.”

The Hunter nodded, and Solas left. 

Varric came in a quarter-hour later holding a tray of food, which he set on the nightstand. “Heard the two of you had an adventure this morning.”

“If the basement counts.”

“Well, you found some treasure exploring the unknown. That sounds like an adventure to me.”

The Hunter grinned. “When you put it like that, I suppose we did.”

“Well, I’m not here to hover all day, Buttercup will probably be back soon for that. You found a journal?”

“Coded. It’s…” he shuffled through the pockets on the shirt at the end of the bed. “Right here.” A small leather book with subtle swirls of silver. He handed it to Varric, who quickly leafed through it before tossing it back. 

“I can’t say code-breaking is my specialty, but I can give it a try.”

“No objections here. I’ll warn you, this one might be based in Latin.”

Varric sighed. “That would be an issue. Though, apparently your Latin is related to Ancient Tevinter. That Altus said he found a few similar words between the two. He’s working his way through one of those books, trying to translate it.”

“This all just ties back to Tevinter, then.”

“It certainly seems to.” He paused. “Say, don’t you have a book like this too?”

“Nowhere near as fancy, I’m afraid. Also in code, before you get hopeful.”

“Well, if you suddenly remember your cipher and need extra paper, let me know.”

Varric went out, and sure enough, Sera was back just a few minutes later. 

“Nice, you’re still here.”

“Did you think I’d run off?”

“You do that sometimes. Glad to see you didn’t, though.”

“Not this time. Solas might have a stroke if I vanished twice in one day.”

She snorted. “That’d be a sight to see.”

“Not a fan of his?”

“He’s… ugh. Friggin’ know it all. Always on about the ancient elves and how great they were.”

“I suppose he has to teach me how the modern elves are doing before he starts on about ancient ones.”

“Right.” She sat down. “You don’t know.”

“I’ve heard some about the Dalish, and a little about Alienages. Hearing and seeing are two different things, though.”

“For sure.” They sat for a few moments. “Aren’t you meant to be eating that?” She nodded towards the tray on the nightstand. 

Oh, right. Food. “Probably.”

“So, the stuff we got today, you had it before you lost your memory, yeah?”

“Right.”

“Are there any crests or anything? On clothes or that little lamp or something.”

“I had coin on me.” He picked up his shirt. “Here.” He tossed her the pouch and she poured a few in her hand. Copper, silver, gold. Same as the ones here, though the inscriptions were different. The value system differed as well, if he remembered correctly. 

Sera held one up. “Huh. Definitely foreign, I don’t think I’ve seen coins like these before, and I’ve been all over. Sorry.”

“No need to apologize.”

She glanced at his armor. “You have a journal too?” It was in the same pocket as the coins, the one he’d left open. 

“You’re the second person to ask today, actually. It’s coded as well, before you get your hopes up.”

“Right, right. Be too convenient.”

He picked up the journal. “I’ve got sketches, but nothing like a map.”

“Sketches?”

He handed her the book. For every page of writing there were two or three of drawings. Buildings, little designs, birds and beasts. Some were detailed, others little more than scribbles. 

She flipped through a few. “Oh, woah. I didn’t know you were an artist.”

“I’d hardly call myself an artist. It’s much easier to show someone what something looks like than to try to describe it.”

“No, seriously. These are good.” The early ones were mostly landscapes, snapshots of the mountains and trees he’d grown up on. He could tell when she got to Yharnam just by the look on her face. 

“I’m afraid they devolve to scribbles after a while.”

She flipped a bit faster, until she stopped dead on a page, eyes wide. 

A carriage, pulled by two mangy horses, missing its driver. The one-fine upholstery had long molded, and the curtains were in tatters. On the side was a large crest, the details ornate despite the toll time had taken, the same crest they’d found today. 

The next one was a castle, old and weather-worn, but standing proudly against the stone. There were a few sketches of statues, of the laughably ornate armor he’d found there, and of the Evelyn. Soon after, the drawings returned to Yharnam. 

“This is it.” Sera flipped back to the carriage. “This is the crest.” She looked over the next few drawings again, carefully scanning each page. 

In the corner of the castle, hidden among the snow, ‘Cainhurst’ was scrawled, hardly legible. It had been freezing, he’d hardly been able to keep his hand still enough for the sketch. 

“Here, it’s writing. Squished though.” Sera squired at it. “Cadburg?”

“Cainhurst.” He traced the lettering with a finger. “Castle Cainhurst.”

Sera’s eyes widened. “Do you think there’s other stuff here? Stuff like this?”

He blinked. “Maybe.”

She flipped back to where the city started. “Trees are everywhere, but buildings aren’t. Maybe there’s something distinctive.”

“If you think it’ll help.” It wouldn’t, not really, but she didn’t know that. 

The first few were just buildings. He hadn’t drawn the beasts so early on, hadn’t quite been sure they were real. 

He drew the clinic, the lamp, and Gilbert’s window, then the square, the fountain, and the bridge. Small scribbles, all only lightly detailed, none of them taking a full page to themselves.

He drew the first thing that killed him, that huge antlered creature on the bridge. His hands had shaken, ruining the details, but he hadn’t cared and still didn’t. Like most of his drawings, this had been done once he was back in the dream. He’d had a lot of free time there while recovering from his jaunts through the city.

Sera stared at it for a few long moments, shivered, and turned the page. 

A tall warehouse, the aqueduct from above, and then Eileen, standing in a quiet, secluded corner, a small sanctuary from the rest of the city. He’d written her name along the side, so he wouldn’t forget it. 

Sera blinked. “Someone else in your armor?”

“Not mine, I don’t think. The same kind, but not the set I wore.”

Sera turned the book. “Eileen…?” Her eyes widened a fraction. A name she could investigate. Was it a common name here, or did it stand out?

“Are you alright?”

“Y-yeah. Of course.” She turned the page. 

Many of the drawings were so specific they were nearly nonsensical out of context. A music box, the same one he carried; an ornate brooch; a graveyard, dark and looming, with a shadowed figure in a dark hat and silver scarf. If Sera saw the name, she didn’t react react. He hoped for her sake she didn’t recognize it. She thumbed carefully past the chapel and its odd but kind dweller, settled neatly among the urns and incense, then the Cathedral, but from a distance. The gate had been closed, and finding a way to open it had taken quite some time. The next picture was of Alfred, who had smiled and answered the Hunter’s questions. The Executioner had also insisted on posing for him, and his drawing was all the more detailed for it. 

Old Yharnam was a mess of smudged lines, the smoke obscuring any useful details. There were more scenes here than disconnected objects, but there were hardly any defining landmarks. The tall pyres and hung figures crowded the cramped streets, the beasts in their shawls and wrappings lurking in the shadows. The tall tower Djura had claimed stood above the worst of the smoke, the gatling gun barely more than an angular smudge. He’d drawn Djura, but that was later on in the book. He’d been more concerned with survival than finding him at the time. 

The grand hall, with it’s huge, hanging beast, then the small but ornate altar beneath it. The blood pooled beneath the beast caught the firelight the way the beasts’ eyes did, gleaming in the dark. The church in the valley with it’s horrible, malformed denizen, and the strange chalice he’d found on the altar there finished this chapter. Sera flipped through it rather quickly. It was hardly the happiest of subjects, and nothing was clear enough to be a clue. 

Throughout all the drawings there were small paragraphs and occasionally pages of writing, but the writing thickened in the next chapter. Detailed statues, cramped streets, and a close up of the grand cathedral, and then the priestess he’d found within. 

Eileen again, leaning against the railing by the chapel, staring out over the darkened city, preparing for her next target. A sketch of Henryk, or what the Hunter could remember of him. He hadn’t seen the man’s face very well, and hadn’t returned to the graveyard for a better look, but the armor was distinctive enough to leave an impression. 

Hemwick, with its deformed residents and the Mad ones, took a few pages for itself. Lopsided buildings and gravestones once ornate, but now faded took a few pages to themselves. A great broken bridge over a lake, the designs on the crumbled stone worn away, and a distant castle just visible across the water, obscured by the snow, unlit despite the cold. These drawings were cut off abruptly by a small iron brand he had copied meticulously. He’d pressed so hard the page thinned, almost tore in several places. A small, cramped paragraph in his native language hid in the corner, a solemn thanks to the dead Hunter he’d taken it from. Sera dared to ghost her fingers over his work before snapping the book shut.

“Enough for now, yeah?” The book made a soft thud when she let it fall to the bed.

The Hunter slid the book back into the pocket of his armor. “If you’d like.”

Sera looked up at him, but hesitated. “Do they still hurt? Your… brands.”

“Not really. They sting, but like a cut would while it’s healing.”

“But when your mark gets sparky, they get worse. Does that hurt?”

“Some. I’m not sure how it works, how either the mark or runes work, but they don’t seem to like each other.”

“Runes?”

“The brands. They’re runes. That’s what magic letters are called, right?”

“I guess so.” She thought for a second. “Do you know what they look like?”

“Well, yes.”

“How? They’re on the back of your neck.”

He blinked. “I… don’t know.”

“Brilliant.” She snorted. “Some lopearred goatfucker could have been taking a piss, gave you the wrong bits, and you wouldn’t even know.”

The Hunter glanced around the room. Varric had left paper last time he was here. He leaned forwards and grabbed a few sheets, then fished through his shirt for his pen.

Blood Rapture, Oedon Writhe, Anti-clockwise Metamorphosis and his Hunter rune. He sketched them out quickly, then held up the paper. “These, right?”

She took the paper and got up to look at his neck. She glanced back and forth a few times. “Yeah, these are the ones.” She sat down again, heavily. “Do you… do you know why you have them? Where they came from?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… Lost your memories and all, so you wouldn’t know that from manners, but you’ve got a guess, maybe?”

“Not really. What?”

“You’ve got to think about it, right? If you put it there because you thought it’d be good, or if somebody put it there for you and you didn’t, or if you got it like your glowy hand thing. You think it’s like… normal? All those knifey shivdarks got them too, or just you?.”

He opened his mouth, but closed it again. She was right, those were other Hunters. Under different oaths, but Hunters still. At least a few probably had their own runes. “I don’t know.” It was the safest answer, certainly, but not the truth. “It’s hardly up for debate. Whoever these people were, we’ve come from the same place, but I can’t say I know more than that.”

Sera’s shoulders dropped. “Not knowing’s bad. Worst. Hate not knowing.”

“Given the evidence, there isn’t much else possible. The guns are a giveaway, I haven’t seen them anywhere else.”

She sat down. “At least you’ve got it rattling around.”

“I have. The Magister certainly gave me a few things to think about. That some Elder One brought me here, and I owe a debt for it. That, and he called me a Hunter. A bit hard to ignore that.”

Sera’s eyes were unfocused, staring off into space, but she was tense. “He did, didn’t he. A Hunter, he said. So, are you a Hunter, then?”

“I don’t know what else I could be.” He leaned back. “Leliana’s going to have a field day with all this.”

Sera looked up at him. “This doesn’t surprise you. Like, you don’t have a question about whether or not you’re a Hunter.”

“No. It clicks as well as everything else. I know how their equipment operates, I know how to fight like them, I use their weird mana-less blood magic. It’s hardly a debate.”

She paused, and her next words were given carefully, measured. “He said you’ve got a debt to him. Are you going to go pay it?”

Oh. She was worried about him switching sides. It wasn’t hard to see why, once he thought for a moment. If all the other Hunters were on the other side, why should he be any different? “Well, I owe a debt for safe passage, but it didn’t feel particularly safe to me. I mean, I fell out of the fade and lost all my memories. There are still a few people out there who want to cut my head off. I don’t plan on paying for something I didn’t get, I hardly pay for what I do get.”

She laughed at the last part, tension draining. Good. “So, what, did you steal all your things from Orlais?”

“Nah, Varric paid. I think. No one stopped me while I was walking out, so I assume he paid.”

Sera grinned. “Well, if the Inquisition doesn’t pan out, I think we can find a spot for you with the Red Jennies.”

“Let’s see how closing the sky goes. If it goes badly, it’s good to know I have a back up plan.”

“Right, we have to do that. What’s the plan for that? We’ve got all these mages, now what?”

“I’m not entirely sure how that works, actually. They have to send their power through the mark, but I don’t know the details.”

Her smile dropped. “I thought the mark didn’t like your brands?”

“It doesn’t. Though, it’s only really gotten dangerous when they activate, not when the mark does, so I have a decent chance of survival.”

She snorted. “‘A decent chance’, he says.”

“Well, if I die, I’ll do my best to come back as a ghost. You’ll know I’m around if a bunch of things go missing.”

She looked torn about whether to laugh or not. “I don’t think it works that way, but I think the Jennies could use a friend who can be invisible. Could sneak all kinds of things, go all kinds of places.”

“Excellent.” He leaned back. “I’m set either way, then.”

“Yeah. But, hey.”

“Hmm?”

“Try not to die, yeah?”

“I’ll do my best.”

The trip back to Haven went well, all things considered. Felix stayed behind in Redcliffe on account of his health, and to keep some semblance of order in the village itself, but they brought Dorian. Leliana would want a word, at least. They had the Warden as well, who followed quietly, spoke when spoken to. Nervous, but firm. 

It only took a few days of hard riding to reach the village, and they arrived without much fuss. The Mages would arrive in a few days, barring setbacks, then they’d be off to close the Breach. Until then, they had a small respite, a few days to rest and prepare.

Somewhere, half a country away, two people stumbled away from a fortress under the cover of night. One was missing an eye from an injury given long ago, carrying strange and complex weapons. Unable to stand alone, they leaned heavily on their companion. This companion supported him almost effortly, along with their own set of daggers, endless compassion, and a large, floppy hat that hung down over his pale, impossibly blue eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day late, sorry about that. Back in America for the first time in a decade. Time zones threw me off a bit. It’s been quite a week over on my end :3


	29. one (1) poached egg

Haven, when they returned, was bustling with activity. Crates of supplies, a field’s worth of new tents, and more couriers than the Hunter had seen in a long time swarmed the buildings. Cullen was standing at the gate, directing the tides into some kind of order. They split off from the scouts, and he waved them through the gate. 

The Commander passed his duties to a nearby soldier with brief but thorough instructions, then followed them to the chantry. Leliana was already by the war table with The Iron Bull, leant over a few papers that were hastily gathered upon their entry. Josephine joined them a few moments later, led by Vivienne, who had seen them come in. 

“My apologies for calling you all here so soon after your arrival,” Leliana began, “But we have much to discuss, and precious little time before the mages arrive.”

Josephine stepped forwards. “Most of you will be moved here into the chantry from the outer buildings. We have several rooms empty at the moment, and those of you moving may have your pick, but some may have to share. Although this should be a temporary arrangement, do try to pick a roommate you will get along with.”

The Hunter glanced at Sera, who looked back and nodded ever so slightly. Nice. 

“Do try to relocate before tomorrow night. If you have a compelling reason to stay where you are, come to me later today and we will work something out.”

“Thank you, Josie.” Leliana stepped forwards as the ambassador stepped back. “Now, let us discuss the details of Redcliffe.”

Straight to the point, then. Leliana must have briefed those here already. Vivienne, standing carefully off to the side, kept her expression neutral. The Iron Bull stood relaxed but ready, and kept his eye on the Hunter. 

“First, the Mages are here as our allies, not conscripts. We will not have a templar guard over them, as per our agreement.”

“I still disagree,” Cullen interrupted. “It would be dangerous to leave them unattended. We just pulled them out from under a Magister. They’ve given us no reason to trust them.”

“I am inclined to agree. We may not have a full guard, but there are enough Templars here to keep a handle on them.” Vivienne’s comment surprised him just a bit. She was a Circle member, wasn’t she? He’d thought Mages disliked the circles. “They had their precious freedom, and then promptly signed it away.”

“So keep a watch, but be discreet.” The Hunter drew most of the eyes in the room. “Armored Templars stand out, but a few passing workers won’t. Have the Templars ready, but the last thing we need is a second rebellion.”

Vivienne hummed. “I’d hardly taken you for the type to suggest spies. Though, you do seem to keep quite a few secrets, don’t you?”

Leliana sighed. “This brings us to our next issue. We have heard troubling accounts of the company Magister Alexius kept. I understand they have… unusual habits.”

“Ha! ‘Unusual’, she says, as though it were an odd fashion trend.” Dorian, leaning against the wall, stood. “I might call this odd, mana-free magic many things; unusual, my dear, seems a bit blasé.”

The Iron Bull, still standing purposefully relaxed, nodded in agreement. “Have to say, not thrilled to know anyone could be a Mage. We have no way to separate them from everyone else. Spies will be impossible to find, and Templars will be useless stopping them.”

Vivienne had a glimmer of power in the air around her as studied the Hunter carefully, though he couldn’t discern its nature. “It’s true, then. You have no mana, but can perform magic.”

“In a limited form, at least.”

“The others you met there shared this ability of yours, yes?”

“At least one of them, yes.” The Yahar'gul Hunters, at least, hadn’t used magic, though he knew they were capable. He glanced to The Iron Bull. “Though, I wouldn’t say it’s undetectable. A brand is a rather obvious marker.”

“That does seem to be what allows your magic.” Solas stepped up to the table. “I confirmed before we left that the other woman had a brand as well, though it was a different design. Effects aside, it seems to be some sort of modified tranquility brand. There is no material to the brand, only a shape, but the way it was applied may have conferred the abilities they seem to grant.” 

“This woman had only one?” Leliana raised an eyebrow. 

“Yes.”

“Yet you have four?” She turned to the Hunter, now.

“I do.”

“I’m told you felt when they lent their power. Were they all used at once?”

“No, only two of them.”

Leliana hesitated, though only slightly, and she hid it well. “Then you could have so far unseen abilities.”

“I could, yes.” 

“What exactly did you do?” Blackwall, somewhere behind him, stood almost nervously. “I saw the blood, but not the magic behind it.”

“As I understand it, the brands allowed me to use their blood to heal myself.”

“So incoming mages aside, we know of at least one blood mage.” Vivienne regarded him coolly. “And we are to accept this?”

The Hunter met her gaze, but not with a challenge, and he spoke quietly. “You need only tolerate me until the Breach is sealed. Afterwards, I’m told there are a fair few who would like me executed. In the meantime, what would you have me do? Carry a Templar guard? Wait in the dungeons?” Though far from pleasant, the dungeons would make the most sense. 

He heard a sharp breath from Varric and heard Cassandra’s armor shift behind him. Vivienne kept his gaze, but now her expression was muddled, not quite as cold. “And what would a Templar do, without mana to suppress? Though, I doubt you’ll be executed any time soon, given our recent findings.”

Something else came up? The Iron Bull shuffled forwards and set a decently sized file on the table. “A few Ben-Hassrath reports. One of them had something rather interesting. Apparently, someone wearing armor a lot like what you’re wearing now, carrying a weapon identical to yours, was found recently in the wastes, desert in western Orlais.”

The Hunter blinked. Another? The Iron Bull pulled out the top few pages. Careful writing in a language he didn’t know, but the drawing of the Saif was unmistakable. 

The armor drawn on the second page took him a moment to place, though. Torn and ragged, it had the long coat and short cape of the attire he now wore, though it had a few other layers, and the hat was round, with a wide rim, instead of a tricorn design. 

If the shading was anything to go by, the sun had lightened it considerably. The darker leather must have been scuffed and sandy, sun-bleached, depending on how long he’d been out there. 

The last place he’d seen this kind of armor was in a Nightmare. As far as he knew, no living Hunters wore the uniform. His confusion must have shown. The Iron Bull, who had been studying him carefully, shifted slightly. 

“He was half-dead when they found him, but of the twelve operatives there, only three survived. He had what I’m pretty sure was a gun before it was smashed.” Another drawing, smashed prices set back together where they looked right. A few pieces were wrong, but it was unmistakably a rifle. 

“The guys you encountered at Redcliffe had similar weapons and capabilities,” he continued, “and yet you managed to defeat three. Now here you are in their armor.”

“There are easier ways to say I’m one of them. It isn’t difficult to see. I have one of their weapons, I can use their equipment, and I can use their magic. Anywhere I go, anything I do, none of that changes the fact that I’m a Hunter.”

“A Hunter?” Leliana stared intently. 

“That is what the Magister called me. It certainly fits better than Herald.”

The room was silent for a time, until Varric spoke. “What now, then? Are you going to go back to wherever you came from?”

The Hunter took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “No matter what I am, my first priority is the Breach. I’ll see it closed or die trying. If I survive, we can argue about what comes next. I won’t go running off while you aren’t looking.” Whether he ‘died’ or not, he’d be fine, though he wasn’t sure he’d be back after his ‘death’. 

“Then for now, we’re done here.” Leliana dropped her papers on the table. “The lot of you have only just returned, go settle back in. We’ve a long few days ahead of us.” Her tone left no room for argument.

Surprisingly enough, he was not confined to the dungeons. The people would worry if he just disappeared, or so he was told. 

He set up in the chantry, in one of the basement side-rooms. Sera was nowhere in sight, so he took a moment to slip into the basement proper and head for the dream. 

He’d felt wound up these last few days, and talking to the Doll always helped. That, and he had to start on repairing his armor. 

~~~~~~~

Solas, luckily, had been able to keep his cabin. It was far enough away from the gate that it didn’t matter much, and few knew enough about his field of study to dispute his need for privacy. 

Privacy he was glad for, as he walked through the Herald’s dreams a second time. This time, however, he was prepared. He’d brought his staff, carried it at the ready, and wore a heavier robe, which would provide some amount of protection from anything hostile. 

They’d been in Haven three days now, and the mages would arrive in the afternoon. His presence would not be needed until then, and he was counting on remaining undisturbed. 

This time, instead of an echoed forest, he was in a city. It was eerily silent, the air old and heavy. The crooked buildings were partially swallowed by the swirling stone, but the paths were, for the most part, intact. 

The Chapel he woke in had two doors, a large arched main entrance and a smaller side door, and in front of the altar, in the center of an ornate floor mosaic, was the same small purple lamp he’d seen twice before.

The Herald’s echo, stronger here than in the other dream, directed him out the main door, then up a warped stone arch that formed a bridge over a set of stairs. There were small patches of dry, brittle grass in the cracks between the stone, a dull grey color. Even in the fade, the city was in a state of disrepair. 

The fences were wrought iron, lined with stone statues of grasping figures and… griffins? Was this some kind of old Warden city? The stairs led to an open gate, but the bridge carried him away from it. 

It led to an outcropping of twisted rock that overlooked a large round courtyard. The courtyard, like the swamp in the last dream, was inhabited. Not by the strange giants and corpses and writhing things, but by small, bandaged humanoids. 

The stepped carefully down a steep, narrow path. The creatures, when they saw him, stepped back, huddled and shook in fear. They were smaller than a person, perhaps four feet tall, and their bandages covered ragged grey fur and deep wounds. 

These creatures felt nothing but fear and pain, and the air was clogged with it. Across the courtyard was a large, open gate, and a vast set of stairs. 

There were more of these creatures as he climbed, peering out from behind fences, cowering in side streets, but none were willing to come close. 

At the top of the staircase he could see a grand, ornate building, a cathedral of some kind. It was as he drew closer he found the corpses. However, the bodies here were old. These were not killed by the Herald. 

Some of the pitiful fearlings, bodies slashed savagely and burned. There were people here too, only a few of them, but they wore armor remarkably similar to what the Hunter found in Redcliffe.

There were marked differences, but the style was unmistakable. If not for the coloring, it would be a perfect match for the man the Qunari agents had found. 

There were few of these… Hunters, he supposed they were called. He found a small path back to the chapel he began in, down the stairs under the stone arch. 

The Herald’s presence called him back up, towards the cathedral. The large, ornate stone doors were closed, but swung open on his approach. 

Out stepped a creature that gave him pause. It was tall, easily the height of two men, and carried a large axe. It wore a white robed outfit, with a low hood and cape. The hood covered most of its face, leaving only a mass of tendrils and a dark purple haze where its face should have been. 

It stepped out of the building, and when it saw the Mage, only stared. It made no move, and neither did he. 

From the Herald, there was only dread, for the creature in front of him and for the cathedral beyond. He had found what was within, but he hadn’t liked it very much. 

He felt the Herald’s presence pulling him back, back to the chapel, to go the other way. He followed the presence, and the creature watched him go, but remained where it was. 

The side door led down a hall, which turned a corner and let back outside. The sight that greeted him would haunt him forever. 

A literal river of blood, bright and viscous. The smell was overwhelming, and he had to pull part of his shirt over his face to bear the stench.

The river was dotted with corpses and infested with a good number of bloated monstrosities. Some kind of four legged insect, like a malformed tick. A few scuttled along, back and forth, almost patrolling, while others remained together, huddled in groups. These, unlike the beings before, carried no fear. 

The Herald called him forwards, to the riverbank. He’d walked this path many times, and it led down into the river. 

Solas quietly made his way to the stairs. There were more of the ticks under the bridge, but none were facing him. They seemed rather distracted by something under the bridge. 

A corpse, according to the Herald’s echo. He could walk past and they wouldn’t even notice him. Though, walking past meant walking through the blood river, and he would really rather not. This, however, was the only way forwards, and the Herald was rather insistent about it. He had to go down this path. 

Solas took a deep breath, then regretted it for the smell. He picked up the trailing edges of his robe and started up the river as quickly as he could without making too much of a commotion. 

The blood was ankle-deep, warm, and very slowly flowing. It pulled at his steps like a thick mud, and he tried not to gag at the sensation. He had to use his staff to keep his footing, and, for the first time in his life, he regretted not wearing shoes. 

The ticks paid him no mind, even when he passed another group, and he quickly made his way to a narrow tunnel. Here he found another tick, but dead. This had been the Herald- he couldn’t find a way to simply walk past, so he’d cut it down. 

It gave the Mage the opportunity to study the creature up close, though when he did he wished he hadn’t. 

It had four legs, two longer ones in the back, two shorter in the front. Serrated in parts, the way in insects would be, but when he moved forwards, he saw its face. Its relatively human face, distorted mouth aside. 

He stumbled back against the wall, nearly lost his grip on his staff in an effort not to slip on the slick rocks.

This thing had a face, enough of one that it wasn’t simply resemblance. He gathered himself, steeled his nerves, and looked closer. This thing was a monstrosity of a man. From its head, which had stringy, silver hair, its spine continued down to its tailbone, which jutted out. It’s back legs were attached at the hip, and its front legs were attached at what could have been shoulders once, now twisted to resemble another hip. 

If were to stand on its back legs, it would appear to be a sickening, ill-proportioned man, with a deep red, swollen pouch where its stomach should be. The Herald knew that that bag was full of blood, and burst everywhere when it was torn open with a serrated weapon. 

Solas stumbled out the other end of the tunnel and threw up in the grass. 

There weren’t any of the monstrosities here. They stayed in the river, the Herald knew. He too had been worried of pursuit, but none had come. 

He was in what looked like a sewer, and it wound around corners, and around fallen towers, or perhaps the towers were just twisted into the ground. Wanting out of the blood as quickly as possible, he carried on, but froze a corner later.

The ground ahead of him was covered by old corpses, so many more than in the river, partially rotted, their skin gone. They remained fleshy, and the smell was worse here than back with the ticks. 

And then one used its emaciated arms to push itself off the ground from the chest up, to stare at him with eyeless sockets. 

He could feel his hands shaking, hear his own unsteady breathing, but distantly. This was not the only moving corpse, far from it. They were everywhere here, some pushing themselves up at his approach, others simply lying in the mud, gasping for breath. 

Unfortunate, the Herald had thought. Unfortunate, but he had carried on. 

There was a path clear of corpses along the wall, which led to a dead end. The forwards was a ladder off to the side, climbing the sewer wall. It led out of this muck, at least, and Solas made his way to it with unsteady steps, the Herald’s echo a fresh, steady wind at his back to help him along. The ladder was, thankfully, dry above the first few rungs, and the rungs were ridged, difficult to slip off of. 

He climbed up onto the wall. A short walk away it dropped again, to a large clearing. A clearing covered in blood and the same living corpses, along with two (hopefully) non-living corpses, resembling the creature he’d seen in the cathedral. 

He gave them a wide berth, just in case, and carried on. He’d come this far, he had to keep the going. The Herald had felt much the same, and the Mage wasn’t quite sure what to make of that.The way forwards let past an iron gate - not through it, but around it. It was half buried in the ground, and the path swept through the crumbling wall. 

But first, a detour. There was a small church set into the rocks, these twisted into rough, sinister shapes, not the smooth lines of before. Another of the odd lamps stood here, next to an altar, which had been pushed back to reveal a staircase. More sewers, according to the Herald. Nothing interesting left to find there. 

Solas left the building, back to the path. The end of the dream was close, the Herald’s destination just ahead. 

The path crested by the gate, then dropped into something that resembled a pit of living corpses. There were several non-living corpses here as well, Hunters who had come here before the Herald. 

But why here? Why this gathering? And why had the Herald come? 

His answer lie down the dark tunnel ahead, and he wasn’t sure he wanted it. Solas stopped, ignoring the soft whispers of the Herald. Did he want to know what was ahead? 

The Herald’s gentle breeze turned cold, the sudden gale pushing him forwards abruptly. The Mage stumbled and nearly fell, bracing himself against the rough wall. 

He had to go forwards. The Herald had to go forwards, Solas realized, and even the mere echo of his resolve was overpowering. 

The Herald’s steps had been measured, steady. Solas’ were significantly less steady, but took the same path, pulled along by the Herald’s sheer force of will. 

The room ahead was full of piles and piles of corpses. Some moved, others lie still. The Mage hoped they were inanimate rather than exhausted. One laughed to itself quietly when the Mage entered. Solas froze as it turned to him. 

It only grinned and chuckled, then set its eyeless sight back to the room. 

Near the back there was a set of stairs, a door, a lamp, and another monstrosity. It was huge, too many limbs, misshapen. Its lower body and several legs resembled those of a demented horse. Its upper body, under the mutated growths, could have been a man once, but the skin was pulled and stretched, sagging in some places but pulled taut in others. Its face was long and stretched like a horse’s, but it remained undeniably human. 

It lie dead at the base of the stairs. Solas, frozen in place, was carried forwards by the Hunter. This creature. This monstrosity. This beast, hissed the Herald, the wind biting cold but no longer directed at him. 

All the death here, in this room, outside, all the way to the river, was the doing of this beast, and the Herald hated it. Hated this creature with an intensity that left Solas breathless. 

The Herald came here, though for what, the Mage didn’t know. His search had led him to this creature — beast, the Herald corrected — and he had fought it. This hadn’t been his goal, only an obstacle. 

The creature here was dead, but its death had not come easily. How much had it cost?

The Herald answered him with a sharp, stabbing pain. A stray leg, an arm, a hoof, something had hit him, injured him, and badly. Slowed him down, just slightly, but it was enough. He’d killed the beast, but he hadn’t made it further than this room. A deep, deep pain blurred as time went on, and a weightless, blanketing cold settled over him even as he fought to carry on. 

He died here. The Herald died here. This beast had killed him. It had not survived the fight, but it had injured him badly enough that the Herald hadn’t survived either. 

The Herald had a bitter feeling of satisfaction. He’d done it. The beast is dead, at least. 

Solas climbed the stairs, the weakened Herald pulling him along. The purple lamp hung solemnly, the ground around it shifting and churning. He walked past it with hardly a glance. The door was unlocked, but he did not open it. The air blowing through the bars was cold and damp. Stale, but not thick with the smell of blood. He put a hand on the door, and stopped. 

No. No, he’d seen enough for the night. The Herald desperately wanted to continue, wanted to know what was ahead, but lacked the strength to push the Mage any further. 

Somewhere along the way to this room he’d stopped caring about his robes, and the bottom few inches were heavy with blood. 

This place was awful. It was filthy and it stank and it was absolutely miserable, and it was where the Herald had died.

Solas took a deep breath of cold, damp, faintly salty air from the hall ahead, and then opened his eyes in the waking world. 

He sat up slowly. It was just past dawn. He could hear the village waking up, preparing for the mages. They would be here by the end of the day. Somehow that seemed unimportant now. He had to resist the urge to look for the Herald. He’d been out and about in the village for the last few days. His things had been moved into the chantry, but he hardly spent any time there. 

He’d treated enough of the man’s wounds to know that he was very much alive at the moment. 

Had he been raised from the dead somehow? 

The amnesia made a more sense now, knowing that he was a dead man walking, or something close to it.

Magister Alexius had said the Elder One gave the Hunters passage. Were all of them dead, from a time long ago? 

There was a solid link between Latin and Ancient Tevene. Were these Hunters from ancient Tevinter? It was plausible, if Alexius really had some kind of time magic. It wouldn’t explain their technology, though. Their blood healing, perhaps, and the style of their armor, but not their weapons. 

The place the Herald had been — that river of blood, with its horrifying residents — was a sight that would haunt him for some time. 

Solas took a deep breath, savored clean mountain air, and surveyed himself. His robes and the staff by his bed were clean, but his hands were scraped where he’d caught himself on the rocks. Small bits of dust and gravel were embedded in his palms. He stared blankly at his hands for a few seconds before he snapped out of it. Gravel and dust. Something had come back with him. An injury was one thing. Unsettling, dangerous, but ultimately explainable. To bring something from the fade was something else entirely. 

He picked the gravel out of his palms with a pair of tweezers. Small, dark shards, fine and brittle, almost glassy. Not obsidian, but something similar. He tried to keep his breathing calm as he rinsed off his hands. Luckily the grazes were superficial, hardly noticeable unless someone was looking for them. 

He sat back on the bed and closed his eyes. Haven was waking up, the clatter of crates and boxes mixing with the chatter of soldiers and workers. He’d been asleep, technically, but he was exhausted. It felt as though he’d actually just trekked through that awful city. He might have, actually, if his hands were anything to go by. 

Solas pulled on the fade and formed a spell he used rarely, one to give himself a dreamless sleep. No one would need his assistance until the afternoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What the fuck even is America everything is huge. I went to Walmart and I think if I yelled it would echo. It’s a goddamn cavern in there. Mountains are pretty, though. I do like those. 
> 
> Anyways haha rip eggman.


	30. Let’s do this :3

The Mages settled in surprisingly quickly, perhaps due to the exhaustion of walking for several days. Haven was as prepared as it could be to welcome them, and what complaints they had were dealt with fairly easily. 

“I just want to know who told them I was the one to approach.” Cassandra swung her sword at the wooden dummy. 

The Hunter, leaning against a nearby tent post, grinned. “You’re the easiest to find. That’s all they need.”

“That’s true.” She continued her assault. “What did you need?”

“To be out of the walls for a bit. Now’s hardly the time to go running through the forest, but I figure the training grounds are alright. As long as the Iron Bull has his eye on me he won’t get too nervous.” He jerked his head towards the Qunari, who was set up with his Chargers in a tent near the main gates. 

They hadn’t wanted him wandering while the Mages were being set up, so he’d stayed inside. He was in civilian clothes today, to avoid startling anyone. 

Vivienne had decided he was at least worth conversation. He’d learned more about how the circles had worked today than he had in his entire time here. 

They made a surprising amount of sense. A few cases aside, the circles generally functioned. The Mages were given a safe place to study, and the common people needn’t worry about what they could do. Not the best solution, but until recently, it was one that had worked. 

“Has he been? Nervous, I mean.”

“He doesn’t like it when he can’t see what I’m doing. I can hardly blame him, though.”

Having sufficiently battered the dummy, Cassandra sheathed her sword. “Everyone has been tense as of late, for more than one reason.”

“We’ll be off to the Breach tomorrow. Whatever happens, that’ll be a load off everyone’s shoulders, in some way or another.”

“That it will.” She considered him for a moment. “I… I know what you said earlier, but, if it were up to you, where would you go? After the Breach is closed, of course.”

Hmm. If it were up to him? “I don’t know. I’d find a new cause, I suppose. Something else to fight for.”

“Must you always be fighting for something?”

“Not physically, no, though I do like having a goal in mind. Breach is a rather ambitious goal, I would like a smaller one next. Vigilante justice, perhaps. Find a nest of bandits to clear out.” He was only halfway joking. 

“Would you try to look for others like yourself?”

“Hmm. I’m not sure how I’d start. They hardly seem like the friendliest bunch, or the most open.” He’d go looking eventually for some kind of answer, but Thedas seemed like an interesting place. He wouldn’t mind staying a while longer. 

“Does it bother you? Not knowing where you’ve come from?”

“Not really.”

“You could have family out there somewhere. Friends, at least.”

There were a few people he wanted to find, now that she mentioned it. “I could. Not much to go on, though. Perhaps I’d travel, to see if anyone happened to recognize me.”

“Hmm.” She sighed. “This is likely not the easiest topic for you.”

“I don’t mind.” He looked up at the sky, towards the Breach. “There’s a lot resting on tomorrow, isn’t there?”

“There is.”

“What will you do, after the Breach is closed?” 

“I will stay with the Inquisition. Once the Breach is no longer a threat, we will investigate how it happened.”

“Ah. That would be something to investigate.” He paused. “You don’t seem as…”

“As?”

“Put off. By me, I mean. With the…” he glanced around at the nearby soldiers, busy with their training. “Well.”

“You have been here for over a month now, and you have done nothing but help us and those around us. We now know more about your past circumstances, but I don’t believe a person’s past defines them.”

“Even a past like mine.”

She sighed. “Even a past like yours. It is hardly ideal, but you appeared when we needed you.”

“You still believe I’m holy, then. That I was sent by your Maker.”

“I do. You may not, but I cannot ignore that you were exactly what we need, and have come exactly when we need you.”

“I’ll admit, I haven’t give the gods much thought.” 

She considered him for a moment. “How much have you learned, of the Chant and its teachings?”

“Not much, I’ll admit. I know of Andraste, and I know many of the texts are lyrical, meant to be sung instead of recited, but that’s about it.”

“I could explain more, if you’d like.”

“If I survive tomorrow I might take you up on that.” It wouldn’t hurt to know more about this place. 

“Do you believe you won’t?”

“It’s hard to say. Maybe it’ll be like like closing any other rift and I’ll be fine, but I won’t know until we get there.”

“Does it trouble you, to close the rifts?”

“Not terribly so. It was worse in the beginning, but the mark has… settled, so to speak.”

“And still you do everything we need.”

“Of course. What else would I do?”

“You have the skill to do as you please. You could have left, could have gone somewhere without the threat of death hanging over you, and yet you didn’t even consider it. Many would have, in your position.”

He blinked. He could have gone, but to where? Back to Yharnam? The city held nothing for him now. Down to the old labyrinth? He hated confined spaces, hated the way the walls seemed to close in. 

She smiled wryly at the look of surprise on his face. “This is exactly what I mean.” She dropped her voice, to avoid being overheard. “I may dislike certain... abilities of yours, but I will try not to judge you for what you don’t remember.”

“What if I were to remember? To know what I’d done, why I am the way I am?” A dangerous line of questioning, but he was curious. 

“I suppose it would depend on what you remembered. If your past actions are much like your present ones, I don’t imagine we’ll have much of a problem.”

Oh. He’d thought she was against, well, him. “Thank you.”

“What for?”

“For treating me the same as you always have.”

“Have the others not?”

“They try. I won’t name anyone in particular, but some are worried for the Inquisition, or worried about what I can do. Others act like I’m made of glass, like I’ll snap the moment they say the wrong thing.”

“I can see how that would be tiresome.” She surveyed the field of soldiers. Cullen, standing by the gate, caught her gaze and waved them over. 

The Hunter stood and stretched. “Well, let’s go see what he needs.”

Cullen took them up to the Chantry. They were to make for the Breach the next day, and needed to finalize their plans. 

“We’ll head out tomorrow, around mid-morning. If all goes according to plan, we can seal the Breach and be back here by the afternoon.” Cullen braced his hands against the table. “We don’t need every mage there, only a select group of them. We take a that group and a band of soldiers in case of any demons.”

“The Breach is stable, even if it isn’t sealed. It will not draw the same kind of attention in the fade the way most rifts do. I don’t expect a strong demon presence, but it is better to be prepared.” Solas, unusually pale, stood off to the side. Was he alright?”

“I know several suitable candidates among those arriving. I can ask them to come forwards, if you’d like.” Vivienne didn’t like the elven mage, but at least she had enough respect to ask before she took matters into her own hands. 

“Bring them forwards, then. Having the power be directed through the mark itself is as important as how much power we direct.”

They split off not long after that. Solas was on his way out, presumably back to his cabin, but he was moving slowly, and the Hunter caught up to him easily. 

“Are you alright?” The Mage looked terrible, like he hadn’t slept in days. 

Solas jerked as he approached, and the Hunter caught his arm to keep him from falling. When he regained his balance, he sighed. “Yes.”

The Hunter stared at him. Solas wouldn’t make eye contact. “I’ll rephrase my question, then. What’s wrong?”

The mage took a steadying breath. “I am... alright. I will be.”

“What happened?”

“I have told you how I study the fade through dreams?”

The Hunter nodded. 

“The Breach distorts the fade, pulls apart normal places. The effects can be… unsettling, to say the least.”

It wasn’t everything, but it was something. “Hopefully after tomorrow things will calm down.”

“Indeed.”

He let Solas go, but waited until the Mage had left the building before going downstairs, back to his room. 

Sera was already there, waiting for him. “Tomorrow’s the day, then.”

“It is. It’ll be good to get it over with.”

“I meant what I said, you know. After, if they try to take you away, I’ll come get you. You’d better survive tomorrow, if you die it’ll mess up my plans.”

He grinned. “I’d best survive, then.”

They set out around mid-morning the next day. The Breach was a decent ways away from the village, and the path there was freezing cold, but they arrived without complications. 

The red Lyrium remained, its song sickly and sweet, almost haunting. Though it was constant, it was quiet, easily ignored when it was a good distance away. 

The Hunter slid down into the crater, the Mages a short distance behind. They set themselves in a semicircle behind him, staves braced on the scorched stone. 

Solas, standing at his side, took a few steps back and raised his staff. “Focus your power through the mark!” He slammed his staff down, and the wave of power rushed through the mark. 

The Mages behind him followed suite, and the Hunter thrust his hand towards the rift at the base of the Breach. 

The power was a white hot, searing pain that burrowed deep in his bones, but the mark took all it could. The Runes sang, loud and warbling, but the sharp pain he was used to while closing rifts seemed to burn itself away. 

The rift fought and sparked, but it steadily folded in on itself until it was only a line, which snapped shut.

The power shot up to the Breach, crackling as it went. When it hit, the Breach seemed to fold in on itself, not vanishing entirely, but closed. The rocks that hung in the air fell, slowly at first but faster as the power holding them dissipated. 

The Hunter fell to his knees as the power faded, head bowed. He was by no means religious, but he prayed to anything that might listen that this had worked. 

He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Cassandra, grinning triumphantly. She helped him to his feet, and lifted his hand. “The Breach is sealed!”

A cheer went up through the accompanying soldiers. Sera, waiting for him on the sidelines, helped him up and out of the crater. 

“Here I am, alive and well.” He stared up to the Breach. It was still there, but it was no longer bleeding power. The hole in the sky was smaller, not quite a hole anymore, but something closer to a window. It wasn’t perfect, but it was better. Perhaps a second attempt could close it completely?

Sera punched him on the shoulder. “C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

The walk back to Haven was made in significantly higher spirits than the almost solemn walk there. It was alive with celebration when the returned. The Mages split off to return to their own. Josephine, waiting by the gate, waved them inside. The meeting, she told them, would wait for tomorrow. Tonight was to celebrate. 

The Hunter leaned against the wall in the chantry. “That was about the best thing I’ve done. What kind of celebration is going to top that?”

“I’m sure we can find something to do.” Sera bounced on her heels. 

Josephine eyed him appraisingly. “Perhaps you should take a moment to relax. There are several unused amenities within Haven… I shall have the servants draw you a bath.

That actually did sound pretty fantastic. “Alright, I’ll take you up on that.” Then to Sera, “I’ll catch up with you here in a bit.”

“Suit yourself.” She grinned and darted out the door, mischief in her eyes. 

The bath was heavenly. He sank into the hot water and let it pull the ache from his muscles and bones. This was a luxury he hadn’t had in quite some time. Cold baths in rivers or a wash basin with a cloth were alright, but this was definitely the way to go. 

If this was his reward for sealing the Breach, he’d do it again in a heartbeat. He sank further into the water. 

If he wasn’t hauled off for execution, perhaps he’d stay with the Inquisition for just a bit longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few days early and you’ll still probably get one Sunday :D  
> This one’s a bit short, consider it a bonus :3


	31. In Our Heart Shall Burn

The first sign something was wrong came just before sunset. 

The doors to Haven were kept open to allow easier access between the fields and the main village, but there were flaws in that plan. 

Leliana, who was looking at one such flaw, set her hand on one of the daggers hidden in her robe as she stared at the Hunter in front of her. He was dressed almost the way Sukest was now. His hat was a similar shape, and he had a short cape, but ashen grey cloth was torn to shreds. The metal contraption on his back, even unpolished and showing the beginnings of rust, had several features in common with Sukest’s odd weaponry. It would be heavy, but the weight hardly seemed to bother the man. There was another on his arm, a complex weapon of kinds, resembling a spade protruding from a box. He was clearly injured, hardly conscious. Not a threat just yet, but that could change.

The man’s other arm was around the shoulders of a young man who was almost carrying him. Too thin to be a soldier, but though he had the build of a scout, he certainly wasn’t one of hers. His armor was nearly ragged, the pieces mismatched, held together with hurried, clumsy repairs. Most of his face was obscured by the rim of a large hat. It was clearly too big for him, would be a hindrance in combat. Was he a spy, meant to keep out of danger when he could?

“He needs help.” The boy peeked out from under his hat, and his pale blue eyes met hers. 

“Who might you be?” How did they get here? She was right next to the Chantry, their center of operations, and the only Hunter allowed here was already inside. With so many of the guards distracted by the festivities, these two could have simply walked in. 

“I’m Cole. Please, my friend needs your help.”

This was not without risk, but if she played her cards right this could be an informant, one they badly needed right now to understand these ‘Hunters’. “I suppose we can hardly turn away those in need. Follow me.”

She motioned two of her scouts aside, one to help carry the man and the other to fetch Solas. The man was settled in one of the side rooms of the Chantry, away from the outside noise. 

Solas, when he arrived, paled when he saw the man. “A Hunter? Here?”

“He came up to the gate, asking for help.” She’d been astounded he’d made it this far on his own. He’d been alone, hadn’t he?

Solas knelt by the man, who was awake but unaware, sitting on the bed. He was missing an eye, but the wound was old. His greying hair and marked face betrayed his age, but his physique was that of a soldier. He wore no medals, no mark to denote military service, but Leliana could see a tired veteran in his slumped shoulders and still hands. 

“A few minor injuries aside, it seems his worst wound is exhaustion. The cold is not kind.”

The scout, standing by the door, quietly lit the fire, then went to fetch extra logs. 

Solas grabbed a few extra blankets from the chest at the end of the bed. “We need to raise his temperature. Everything else can wait.”

The man, who started after a moment or two, looked around blearily, shivering now that he’d begun to warm up. “Where…?” His voice was rough, almost the way a miner’s would be, as if he’d spent years breathing dust and smoke. 

“You’re in Haven. Do you know where that is?”

It took the man a moment to reply. “The- the mountain village. Is this- are you the Inquisition?”

“Yes. Who are you and why have you come here?”

“I’ve come to warn you. The- the Hunters…” he broke off in a fit of coughing. 

“What about the Hunters?”

“They’ve lost their damn minds. Some are on their way here now, under the Elder One. Revenge, they said, for taking the Mages.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but you seem to be a Hunter yourself.”

“I was, once. I was brought along by mistake.”

“Why should I believe you? I’ll ask once more. Who are you?”

“Please, I- someone here should know me. My name is Djura. Is- is it true that Sukest is here?”

Solas quickly stood from the trunk. Leliana kept her face carefully neutral. So this was Djura. “He is.”

Djura sighed in relief. “I know him. He knows me.”

Inconvenient that Sukest would likely be unable to confirm that, though she supposed he already had. “Very well. I shall send for him. But first, you say the Hunters are on their way? When will they arrive?”

“Tonight. They’ll strike in the dark, once the townsfolk are asleep. They aren’t alone, they’ve gathered others- they’ve got an army at their disposal.”

“Solas, stay with him.” She stepped out to speak with her scouts. If this Hunter spoke the truth, they hadn’t much time. 

~~~~~~~

The Hunter raised his glass, and half the tavern toasted with him. Sera was in a chair to his left, and Varric sat across from him. 

“It’s done. The Breach is sealed. And I lived, too.”

“And now comes the investigation. You given any thought on what you’re gonna do now?” Varric, almost sprawled out on his oversized chair, would look relaxed to most observers. The Hunter, however, was a bit more perceptive. 

“Assuming they don’t haul me off for trial and execution?”

“I think they’ll have another war on their hands. Look around, Flighty. These people love you. Most of, if not all of them would fight for you.”

“Would they?” They’d worked together to close the Breach, sure, but would they stay for anything other than the Inquisition? 

“People love you! You’re decent, and most of the ones at the top aren’t.” Sera, who had been going light on the alcohol, wasn’t quite inebriated. 

“Alright, assuming they don’t haul you off for execution, what are you gonna do now? You’ve got a whole world in front of you.”

But not a world the Hunter knew. “I haven’t decided. Maybe I’ll travel, close any leftover rifts, see if I ever recognize anything.” He wouldn’t, but Varric didn’t know that. “Who knows, maybe I’ll stay with the Inquisition for a while.”

“If you want to leave, you might want to do it while the others are distracted. I’m not sure the Seeker would be too happy about you leaving.”

“We talked about it, actually. She asked what I wanted to do after this.” He lowered his voice. “Well, she asked if I was going to look for the other Hunters.”

“Are you?”

“No, I don’t think so. They don’t seem to be the very friendly, and I’ve almost definitely put myself on their shit-list. Maybe one day, if I decide I need answers and I can’t find them anywhere else, but it’s pretty low on my list of priorities.”

Varric, actually relaxed now, grinned. “Good to know. After all this, it’d be a shame if you died to bandits.”

As if that were possible. Not that Varric knew it wasn’t. “I think I’d like to see the sights. See what this world has to offer.”

“You’re him.” The three of them turned to the new face. A pale boy with a too-big hat and scratched armor stood right by them. Where had he come from?

“Can I help you?” Had they met before? The Hunter didn’t recognize him. 

“Yes. No. Not me, but they need you.” 

“Are you alright?” The boy sounded confused, distant.

“A body all wrong, a mark that burns and runes that cut while they sing. I can hear Her. She has you still, and She won’t abandon you.” The boy stared at him with pale blue eyes, eyes that seemed to look into him instead of at him. 

The Hunter set his cup on the table without taking his eyes off the boy. “Who are you?”

“I’m Cole. I- I came to warn you.”

“Warn me about what?”

“The Elder One is coming, and he’s bringing the Hunters. He’s very angry that you took his mages.”

The Hunter stood, careful not to draw too much attention from the rest of the tavern’s patrons. “Would you mind stepping outside a moment?”

They made their way to the door, Sera and Varric close behind them. Outside the air was clear, full of voices, singing and laughing. 

Cole led them to a quiet, shadowed area, near the Alchemist’s hut. There was no one immediately nearby, and they needn’t speak in whispers to avoid being overheard, but they weren’t quite isolated. 

“Now, what’s this about the Hunters being on their way?”

“The Elder One brought them. You took his mages from him, and now he’s here for revenge.”

“When will they get here?”

“Look.” Cole scaled a pile of boxes near the wall, and the Hunter climbed up with him. 

The valley was quiet except for the noise of the village, dark but for the light of the campfires. 

The light of the campfires, and a single dim glow from the distant trees. He reached into his pocket as though he were retrieving something and called the monocular to his hand. 

In the distance, he could see dark shapes moving in the snow. None of them carried torches-not lit ones, anyways. The light seemed to be coming from a few of the larger figures, a dull red he could hardly see with his eyes adjusted to the nearby firelight. 

Now that his eyes were adjusted to the dark, he could see quite a few of them. He leapt down the pile. “We need to get Leliana. Now.”

He must have had quite the look on his face, as neither of his companions argued, only followed behind him as he ran for the chantry. Cole stayed with them, only a few steps behind. 

He found Leliana just outside the chantry, speaking quietly with Cullen. The Hunter slid to a stop just in time to avoid crashing into either of them. 

Leliana looked up as he approached. “We were just about to send for you. What’s wrong?”

“We’re about to be under attack. There’s a large force coming towards us, none of them carrying torches.”

“A surprise attack? You’ve seen it?”

“Come on.”

He led them up where they could see out, and handed Cullen, who climbed up next to him, the monocular. “Look.”

Cullen, after turning the trinket over in his hands for a moment, inspecting it, looked through it. After a tense few seconds he swore and handed it to Leliana as he ran for the chantry, calling the soldiers to arms as he went. 

She raised it to her eye and looked out. “They aren’t under a banner.”

“The Hunters, he said they’ve got- Cole, who do they have with them?”

“The Templars.” The rest of the group jumped, like they’d forgotten the boy was there. “He has a lot of them. Not all of them, but enough for the village.”

Leliana, for once, was caught off-guard. “You!”

The soldiers were starting to gather, moving for armor and weapons, the sounds of celebration now replaced with tense, nervous muttering. 

With most of the mages already in the walls, they put out a call to the tents, and after a few minutes, when the stream of stragglers ceased, they closed the gate.

The Hunter sprinted back to the Chantry. There was no time to change, so he snapped on the nearly identical set of armor from the dream once he was in the privacy of his room, then gathered his weapons, grabbed Sera’s on the way out.

Now armed and ready, he rejoined the mass of soldiers, tossing Sera her bow and quiver. She didn’t have armor to speak of, or he’d have brought it. Her temporary set had been returned to the armory when she made her distaste for it known. 

Cassandra, armored and ready, appeared from the direction of the training grounds, Blackwall and The Iron Bull right behind her. 

Dorian came stumbling out of the tavern towards them, and he saw Vivienne making her way towards him from next to the Mages. 

Large fires were lit around the wall. Seeing they’d lost the element of surprise, torchlight appeared in the snow, showing a force both much larger and much closer than the Hunter was expecting. 

The soldiers saw it now, their nervous energy split between panic and an odd determination. In the center, Cullen was doing his best to restore order. “Civilians to the chantry, soldiers to the wall! Mages, you have sanction to engage!” He gave more orders, but they were lost to the noise. 

And the day had been going so well. Nothing good ever lasted. The Hunter started weaving through the crowd, towards the front. 

By the time he got there, Cullen had the soldiers readying the trebuchets set up along the wall. “Do we have a plan?”

“Laying down to die aside, there’s only one thing we can do.”

The Hunter rolled his shoulders. “Fair enough.” He set off towards the trebuchets. If those went down, their only chance of evening their numbers went with them. 

He reached the first in the line just as the army reached them. The Templars definitely outnumbered the Hunters, perhaps ten or fifteen Templars to every Hunter, but there were a decent number of both. 

The Hunter lengthened his Saif and leapt forwards, holding the weapon out beside him to decapitate the first Templar. Not all of them were in plated armor, and he was glad for that. The Saif was near useless against metal, made for cutting flesh and bone. 

The attacking Hunters, luckily, were lightly armored. The first of them reached the wall and leapt upwards, pulling himself off the wall. The arrow that landed in his eye pushed him back down, and he didn’t reappear. 

“Nice shot.”

Sera lowered her bow for a moment, before she raised it again to fire. “Don’t run off like that!”

He twirled the Saif at the assailants who climbed up the wall, sending a good deal of blood spraying out. “Should I stroll casually then? Perhaps take a nap?”

“No, just…” She fired three arrows in quick succession. “Warn someone! ‘Come on’, or ‘I’m going’, not just friggin bookin’ it!”

He pushed the Saif up and under a plate helm, then pulled up on it. The tip of the Saif sliced through the front of the Templar’s skull, straight up the middle, the helmet landing a ways behind him. “I’ll keep that in mind, then.”

Whatever she was going to say next was cut off by The Iron Bull’s roar of fury as he sent part of one Templar into another with his greataxe. 

One of them landed next to him. He glanced down and had to do a double take. What he’d taken for bits of reflected red armor or paint was crystal. Lyrium, if the soft soundless hum he heard was anything to go by. 

He leapt to the side as someone thrust a Whirligig Saw in his general direction, then grabbed Sera by the collar and yanked her back as the Saw user advanced. 

She stumbled and cursed, but went silent and pale when she saw what the man was holding. The Hunter darted forwards, shortening the Saif for a few quick slashes before he pulled back and started circling. 

A dagger appeared in the man’s side, then another followed it as Cole retrieved the first. Distracted, the man was unprepared for the Hunter’s second attack, this one fatal. 

He nodded to Cole in thanks before starting for his next opponent. The tide of invaders felt unending, but they thinned near the first trebuchet as the reinforcement soldiers arrived. 

They had the trebuchet up and working now, but the second was motionless. He shouted and waved at Sera before he sprinted for it. He heard her footsteps following him, but didn’t look back. 

Something fast and cold and blue shot past him, then formed into Vivienne, swinging a magnificent blade of focused power. He’d definitely have to ask someone about that later. 

The second trebuchet was overrun, the last few soldiers frantically trying to find their footing in the tide of Templars and Hunters. He hacked and slashed his way over to him, but kept his distance. Covered in blood and viscera, he would be almost indistinguishable from the attackers. He notched the Evelyn into the eye gap of a Templar’s helmet and fired. The next Templar fell to Sera’s arrows, and Cassandra plunged her sword through another. 

As the crowd thinned, he heard the heavy footsteps of something larger, and spun to see this giant creature of Lyrium that must have been a templar once. It was easily three times his height, one arm covered in crystal down to the elbow, the other curving off into a crude axe where its other hand should have been. 

That looked like something he should deal with. He finished off the Templar next to him and started for the creature, only for another Hunter to jump in front of him. He leapt back to avoid the Boom Hammer swung at him, but the edge of the explosion caught him, sent him stumbling back. Blackwall was there in an instant, slamming his shield into the attacker. His Saif whistled through the air as it caught the man’s shoulder, then his throat on the next swing. 

“Thanks,” he called as he darted past the warrior, back towards the giant. 

The Saif would be next to useless against the crystal, but he’d rather be able to distract it then have it crush someone who would stay dead if they were killed. He fired a few shots into the crystal, which fractured beautifully, to get its attention. It roared and swung at him, but he slid back just in time to avoid it. 

The Iron Bull rushed forwards and slammed his greataxe into its side, the crystal crunching, pieces of it falling into the snow. 

Vivienne’s ethereal blade didn’t actually cut, but the creature roared in pain and staggered back when she swung the blade through it. It still had something resembling a face, a jagged mound of crystals rising around it from the shoulders and back, but there was still visible flesh. 

He threw a few knives into it, and it roared again, now in anger, and set its focus back on him for the split second The Iron Bull needed to swing again, but the end of the greataxe lodged itself in the crystal and remained. The creature spun and slammed the blunt end of its greataxe into him, sending the Qunari flying. 

The Hunter holstered the Evelyn in favor of grabbing the discarded Boom Hammer. He sprinted in a semi-circle around the creature, just out of reach, towards his fallen companion. 

“Bull!” He yanked his mask down as he approached, hoping the Qunari recognized him. The Iron Bull, dazed, stumbled back to his feet. 

“There’s a switch on the end,” he quickly explained, “right here. Flip it before you swing.” He pressed the handle into the Qunari’s hand, then drew the Evelyn and fired a few shots to get the creature’s attention away from Sera. 

The Iron Bull must have understood his instructions because his next swing exploded, shattering the creature’s crystal axe. He looked at the hammer with something akin to awe as he backed away to prime it again. 

It roared and fell to its knees, fractured crystals lighting up the snow around it. If this had been a painting he’d have called it beautiful. 

Varric’s bolt hit an eye, the creature screaming and clutching its face with its remaining hand. Vivienne’s blade flashed and it screamed again, fractures spreading on the crystals that formed its shoulders, ice creeping across its face. 

The Iron Bull’s next swing broke a large chunk of Lyrium from its back, exposing the flesh beneath, and Cassandra plunged her sword into the gap with a yell. The creature convulsed one last time, let out a piercing scream, and then fell dead in the snow. 

The Hunter, breaths heavy but measured, cautiously approached the dead behemoth. The Lyrium’s song continued, but the creature was no longer breathing. Cassandra pulled her sword free as Blackwall started winding the trebuchet. Right, they’d fought this thing for a reason. 

The surviving soldiers aimed and fired on the army, but the main bulk of it was fast approaching. They wouldn’t be able to fight that off. The Hunter thrust his weapon towards the village. “Back to the gate, go! Go!”

If they were going to make a stand, it would be behind the walls. Though, the walls wouldn’t last long if the Hunters brought their cannons. He could hear gatling fire in the distance, and hoped most of their forces found cover. Unlikely, but he could hope. They stumbled back towards the gate. He saw the blacksmith, Harritt, and smashed the door he was pounding on. 

“We have minutes at most.”

“I’ll just be a moment. Go on ahead!”

The Hunter stopped at the gate and helped the last few stragglers, including Harritt, before he pulled it shut. Cullen was there, directing people up to the chantry, when an ear splitting shriek echoed through the air, and what looked like a fucking dragon passed overhead. The Commander gave a quick prayer before addressing the Hunter. 

“Get as many people as you can to the chantry, it’s the strongest building here. At this point, just make them work for it.”

Haven was a mess of fire and splintered wood. The Templars has broken through the walls in a few places and poured in, a Hunter occasionally sweeping their way through. He saw people ducking in and out of burning buildings, heard others trapped. He waved his group up towards the chantry before he dove into the nearest building, yanking someone out from under the fallen rafters. The smoke burned his lungs, but it was easily ignored. He pushed them up towards the chantry and started for Solas’ cabin. The mage was the only one he hadn’t seen so far. 

He wasn’t there, but there were more survivors to rescue. Sera appeared beside him halfway through to help him pull people from the rubble, and he saw Varric doing the same. Fire was spreading among the wooden buildings, helped along by explosives. There wasn’t much time.

The others fought off the approaching Templars as they retreated up, further into the village. He pulled one last person from a building before someone started pushing him toward the chantry. 

It was Solas who had pulled him in, and the Hunter opened his mouth to argue, to say there were more people out there, but found himself doubled over, coughing and hacking from the smoke. The price of not wearing his mask. 

His armor was scorched and sootstained, and Solas pulled him aside, over to the wall. Cole appeared, helping him there, and he slid down the wall when they reached it. 

“He’s come for you. He doesn’t care about the village, but he’ll burn it because he can. There’s a way out,” the pale boy said, crouched next to him. “The Chancellor knows it. We can go, but we need time.”

The Hunter, done coughing, fought to catch his breath. “How- how much time?” It came out as a wheeze more than a word, but Cole heard him. 

“Minutes will be enough.”

Cullen crouched by him, face grim. “If we can start an avalanche, we can bury the army, but we’ll bury the village if we don’t have enough time. 

The Hunter, wheezing, pulled himself to his feet. “I knew I wasn’t going to survive today.”

Sera was in him in an instant. “No! No, there’s gotta be something else! Some other way, anything!”

The Hunter reached into a pocket and pulled his notebook from the dream, pressing it into her hands. “It’s yours. Find some answers for me. You bet I’ll be back to check.”

Sera screamed a stream of curses, but couldn’t stop him from going. They cracked the door to the Chantry and he sprinted out. 

He heard footsteps beside him and saw both Sera and Cassandra, along with Dorian. “I might not agree with your methods, but you saved my best friend’s life. I can’t just let you die.”

“We can at least make sure you reach the trebuchet.” Cassandra, grim but determined, led the way. They fought their way back to the gate, then through it. 

The trebuchet was, thankfully, already loaded. All he had to do was aim it. The dragon circled just as he finished, the others sprinting back for the chantry as he yelled for them to go. Cassandra had to carry Sera away, screaming and kicking, but they cleared the gate before the dragon landed. 

It landed heavily behind him, sending a tremor through the ground and snow into the air. The thing that stepped off its back was tall. It had long, thin limbs, the skin on its chest and face split around glistening chunks of red Lyrium. The Lyrium pulsed like it was alive, its sickly warbling hum loud and insistent.

“Pretender,” it growled. “You toy with forces beyond your ken. No more.”

“What are you?” He’d seen plenty of strange creatures, from the church’s strange blue experiments to the parasitic snakes of the woods to the mismatched creatures of Yahar’gul, but none of them were like this. 

“Mortals beg for truth they cannot have. It is beyond what you are - what I was. Know me. Know what you have pretended to be. Exalt The Elder One, the will that is Corypheus.” The creature lifted a long, sickly arm and pointed at him. “You will kneel.”

The last creature he’d met of this scale was Ebrietas. She was powerful, but not powerful enough to survive. 

“No, I don’t think I will. What do you want?”

“You lack the power to give it to me, but that will not stop me.” In his other hand, he held a swirled metal orb, crackling with red light. “I am here for the Anchor. The process of removing it begins now.”

Its extended hand held the same crackling red light, held towards him, and the mark flared to life. “You interrupted a ritual years in the making, and instead of dying, you stole its purpose.”

The light flared brighter, and the burn of the mark deepened. “I do not know how you survived, but what marks you as touched, what you flail at rifts, I crafted to assault the very heavens.”

The mark flared again, his runes shrieking. He fell to his knees. “And you use the anchor to undo my work,” continued the creature, stalking forwards. “The gall.”

The creature lifted him by the wrist, up to its eye level. Up close, the Lyrium’s song was much louder, the sickly him curling around him. The skin around its face was dry, and it split and stretched around the Lyrium. “I once breached the fade in the name of another, to serve the old gods of the empire in person. I found only chaos and corruption, dead whispers. For a thousand years I was confused. No more.” A monologue. This is what he had to deal with? As long as it bought time, he supposed. 

“I have gathered the will to return under no name but my own, to champion withered Tevinter and correct this blighted world. Beg that I succeed, for I have seen the throne of the gods, and it was empty.” 

This thing was prouder than it was tall. If the tales he’d heard as a child were anything approaching true, gods were usually more trouble than they were worth. He’d rather live in a world without gods than bow to this aberration. The creature threw him against the trebuchet, and pain erupted in his chest. 

“The Anchor is permanent. You have spoilt it with your stumbling. So be it. I will begin again, find another way to give this world the nation and god it requires.” Over the creature’s shoulder, beyond the village, he saw a bright flare. The signal. “And you. I will not suffer a rival, even an unknowing one. You must die.”

The Hunter giggled. He couldn’t help it. He stumbled to his feet, giggles growing to cackles. The creature regarded him almost curiously. 

“I’ve killed greater things than you.” The Hunter struggling to control his laughter, grinning. “You’re a tall son of a bitch, but that means nothing to me.”

He kicked the lever of the trebuchet, setting it off. The creature watched the rock’s path, its expression now one of outrage. 

The Hunter drew the Evelyn. “I’m told you brought me here. Here is your repayment.” 

He fired, and a Lyrium plate on the creature’s face shattered, spiderweb cracks from where the bullet hit. The creature shrieked in rage and pain, clutching at its face. 

“You DARE?!”

The Hunter’s runes flared with the mark, raw power, a hand pulling him forwards. The mountain shook, the avalanche building as it went. 

“I’ll see you again, Corypheus!” He raises his arms to the air, in a ‘come at me’ gesture. “I can’t die, you over-dramatic motherfucker! I’ll come for you!” he screamed at the retreating figure. “You’ll fall like the other gods, fall just like the Daughter of the Cosmos did!”

Corypheus stepped up onto the approaching dragon, which took flight just as the avalanche reached them. 

The last thing the Hunter felt was a wall of icy cold as the avalanche slammed into him, carrying stones and debris with it, before he dissolved to dust and ash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there’s that done. Hope y’all liked it :D
> 
> I’ve got a tumblr now, over at ahoontermusthoont.tumblr.com  
> Blank, nothing posted yet, but it’s made :3


	32. Aftermath

The Hunter woke in a cabin, not the chantry attic. It was the old Alchemist’s cabin, he realized. Sheltered by the rocks, it must have survived. If he wasn’t in the chantry, that must not have. 

He stood and stretched, then hissed. He was still injured, though not as badly as he’d thought. The Dream only healed grievous injuries instantly - the rest he would have to deal with on his own. He took a vial of blood. That would deal with a good portion of it. 

A lamp stood in the corner of the main room, the small purple flame eerily still. That was new, though certainly not unwelcome. He cracked the front door open, only to be met with a snowstorm. Or perhaps it was just the settling remains of the avalanche. How long had it been?

He stepped out into the cold and shivered. If he wanted to survive more than a few minutes at a time he’d need to find warmer clothes. He pulled himself up a veritable wall of snow and looked to where the village used to be. 

The top of the chantry was visible, but that was all that remained. There were small bits of rubble strewn across the snow, all that was left of the village that once stood here. 

The Hunter wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh, cry, or scream in anger. He settled for making his way towards the remains of the chantry. He could mourn later. 

He reached the bell tower and pulled himself inside. The rope was, somehow, still there, and he slid down it, the bell clanging loudly in the deafening silence. It was pitch black in the main hall. He lit his small lantern and hung in on his belt. Some light was better than none. The chantry, thankfully, seemed to be empty. Everyone must have gotten out. A search of the upper area revealed no one. He picked his way down the stairs to the basement. 

His personal effects, mainly books and some clothes, had been taken, along with Sera’s. Had she come down to get them? She might have, if she thought she had the time, or perhaps a passing scout or soldier picked everything up?

The other rooms were similarly empty. Vivienne’s spare, less ornate staff was here, forgotten in a closet, and he picked it up. He would have to hike to catch up with any survivors, and a walking stick could prove useful. It wasn’t until he was about ready to go back up the stairs that he heard movement from the collapsed basement. He carefully set the staff down and crept forwards towards the rubble. 

“Is someone there?”

The movement continued, a quiet scraping and the unmistakable sound of breathing. He stopped in front of the rubble. If he wasn’t careful, the whole basement could collapse. He started sliding smaller pieces, then gradually larger ones, trying not to shift the bulk of the mess, only moving just enough to slip past. 

The trapped person turned out to be a younger elven woman, her blonde hair knotted with gravel and dirt. He carefully pulled her from the ruins, to the more stable part of the basement. She was only half-way lucid, staring blankly off into the distance, but seemed more aware as they climbed the stairs to the main hall. 

He helped her lean against the wall and left her his lantern as he felt his way to the war room. It was as empty as everything else, the maps and papers and tomes that usually scattered the room gone. The girl came up behind him, holding the lantern aloft. 

“Are you alright?” Was she concussed? She stared past him, but not at anything in particular. 

“I am well.” Oh. Her hair covered her forehead, but he could make out the brand of Tranquility now that he was looking for it. 

“Have we met?” She looked familiar, but he couldn’t quite place her. 

“I have seen you in the hall, Herald of Andraste, but we have not spoken.”

He suppressed a shiver, but not from the cold. The lifeless voices of the Tranquil unnerved him, but it was hardly her fault. “Are you cold?”

“Somewhat.”

He went back through the rooms, this time looking for warmer clothes. Most were gone, taken by the villagers, but there were mismatched pieces tucked away, overlooked. Enough to keep the both of them alive. 

He pulled his torches from the dream while she dressed. Any warmth or light they had would help. After a moment of consideration, he pulled out the Bowblade as well. It was one more thing to carry, but he’d rather not have to hunt with the Saif if they turned out to be far behind the main group. 

Climbing back out the bell tower was a struggle. The front doors were buried, and it would take hours to get them out enough to open. In the end he scrambled up the shaft, then hoisted her up with the rope, but they made it. 

They didn’t have much of a lead, so he started in the vague direction of where he’d seen the flare, the girl behind him. 

“How long has it been, since everyone left?” He stepped carefully, knowing most of the snow was light and unsettled. A single wrong step could drop him over ten feet down into the snow. 

“It is difficult to say. A day at least, perhaps two.” She stepped in the footprints he left as instructed, to avoid falling through. 

They were a good distance behind, then. It would be difficult to catch up, but not impossible. There was a sort of path, a narrow flared space along a ridge that began before too long. They’d have gone this way, then. They walked for a time in the biting cold before the girl collapsed. 

“What’s wrong? Are you injured?”

“My apologies. I am… weakened by time, but I am uninjured.” 

He swore quietly. Two days trapped in a basement. He hadn’t thought of that. He bent down and scooped her up. She hardly weighed a thing. “Is this alright?”

“Yes. You have my thanks, Herald of Andraste.”

They would have to stop soon, but they should clear the deeper parts of the snow first. He felt the Anti-Clockwise Metamorphosis rune sing softly to itself, felt the power. He braced himself for the burn of the mark- Anchor, Corypheus had called it- but it didn’t come.

The Anchor had settled deeply, alongside the runes. He felt the hum of power he was used to, but it was calm, no longer burning him. It simmered quietly in response to the rune, but didn’t lash out. It flickered with odd lights, the usually green occasionally yielding pale sparks of blue and gold. 

An hour later he reached a sparse copse of trees, brittle from the environment, sheltered from the blizzard by a cliff face. It was enough shelter to rest, at least. They could spend the night here. He set the girl in an alcove against the cliff and started gathering the pieces for a fire. 

In the end he lit it with a molotov cocktail, after the torch proved ineffective, but it resulted in a decent fire that caught and stayed. 

The girl had fallen unconscious during their trek, but stirred as she warmed. She stared at the fire, shivering, the light painting her hair and eyes orange. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to the way elven eyes reflected light, though he knew his now did the same. “What’s your name?”

“My name is Avexis.”

“Avexis. Do you need anything?” She would be thirsty at least, if nothing else. 

“It would be more efficient to conserve your supplies. You are far more likely to survive than I am.”

He put a hand under the heavy cloak he’d found and pulled a canteen from the Dream. The last thing he wanted to do was leave someone else behind. Enough people had died already, there didn’t need to be one more corpse.

“There is plenty.” 

He handed it to her and she drank deeply. He pulled food from the dream as well, bits of jerky and dried fruit he’d scavenged from abandoned Yharnam apartments. 

The only thing he took for himself was a vial of blood. He would need all the strength he could get, and the odd warmth of it was comforting. His rune hummed along, a steady stream of energy. 

A few hours into the following morning they found the first abandoned campfire, and the Hunter’s fading hope was rekindled. The survivors had moved through here. 

The blizzard eased off over the next few hours, and had spent itself by early evening. They settled that night in a cave. He built a fire, set extra wood near it, and then went out to hunt. The Evelyn stayed with Avexis, along with the instruction to shoot should anything unfriendly come upon her. He’d heard wolves howling in the distance, but had yet to see them. With any luck, they would stay away. 

He returned a few hours later, several nugs in hand. How they survived here despite their apparent lack useful traits was beyond him, but he was grateful for them now. They had some for dinner, then had the rest for breakfast the next day. Guided by trails of abandoned campfires and other debris, bits of cloth scattered by the wind and broken carts left behind, the Hunter and the Tranquil made their way through the snow, towards the survivors of the attack.

Vivienne’s staff was a greater help than he’d thought. He would have to thank her for leaving it, though it was almost certainly unintentional. He hardly had a use for it, but Avexis leaned on it heavily as they made their way forwards. 

She didn’t lag behind as they went, nor did she complain, though whether this was a personality trait or her Tranquility at work, he couldn’t say.

The death toll was high, he knew, higher than it had any right to be. There was a trail for him to follow, but it was far too light for this to be the entire village. He did his best to ignore the bundled corpses in snow. Corypheus would pay for this, the Hunter would make sure of it. 

“So, what brought you to Haven?” They’d made camp for the night after finding a decent shelter. It would be dark soon. 

“Those I traveled with came for the Conclave. I elected to stay in the village for the event itself.”

“Ah.” He tossed a few more sticks on the fire. They spent most of the time sitting in silence. It suited him just fine, though it was strange for such quiet when he wasn’t on his own.

She studied him for a moment. “You are… unusual.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Not many would attempt a journey so perilous, especially with one such as I.”

“I could hardly leave you. There’s been enough death.”

“Many would disagree.”

“Let them. I can keep two people alive well enough.” 

She watched him a moment longer. “You are uncomfortable.”

“I’m alright.”

She kept watching, unconvinced. 

“Its nothing.”

“Do I make you uncomfortable?”

“It’s…” He sighed. “Disconcerting, to know what the Chantry will do. Their friendly face hides all manner of people.”

“There is reason for what they do.”

“I’m sure there are plenty of good things they do, I’m just not sure it outweighs the rest.”

“You speak of Tranquility.”

“In part.” He threw another stick on the fire. “It seems a terrible thing to do to someone.”

“For many it is preferable, considering the alternatives.”

“What were yours? If you don’t mind me asking,” he added quickly. 

“I asked for the Rite. I was offered protection, but I declined.”

“Why?” 

“I once possessed the ability to commune with animals. I could ask the birds what they’d seen, or the rats where things were. I was once delighted with this ability.”

“Then why give it up?”

“A group of Maleficar kidnapped me when I was a child. They wanted to attack the chantry, to kill the Divine, and to use my abilities to do so. An animal killing the Divine during a ceremony could be seen as an action taken by the Maker. It could have allowed them to place their intended candidate on the Sunburst Throne.”

According to Vivienne, a Maleficar was a blood mage, if he remembered correctly. “I suppose an assassination wouldn’t be considered a divine message.”

“No. A high dragon attacking a city in broad daylight, however, would.”

“A high dragon?!”

“They gave me a mix of dragon blood and cast their spells. It allowed me to control animals rather than speak with them, and allowed them to control me. They had me send a high dragon and several wyverns to a ceremony the Divine was hosting.”

“How did that not work?”

“If not for the actions of Seeker Pentaghast, their plan would have succeeded. I chose to give up my magic rather than chance something similar happening again.”

“I… I’m so sorry.”

“I no longer talk to dragons, but my fate is not so terrible. I lived comfortably in the Circle, then came to Haven. Now I travel with the Herald of Andraste.”

He tried not to wince at the title. “I suppose.”

“You are unconvinced.”

“I find it... difficult to understand.”

“Most do.”

“... Seeker Pentaghast? Cassandra was involved?”

“She was the only reason the plan failed. It was her who saved me. If she had not, I would likely be dead now. For disrupting their plan, she was awarded the title ‘Hero of Orlais’ and her position as Right Hand to the Divine. I’m afraid I don’t know much else.”

“It’s no problem. It gives me something to ask her about.” He’d heard Josephine call her that once, but hadn’t known the details. He’d have to ask her about it. 

If she survived, whispered a small part of his mind that he tried to ignore. The sudden pang of loss in his chest took him by surprise. What if Cassandra died when the mountain fell? She had been there, along with Sera and Dorian, when Corypheus landed. What if they hadn’t made it to the rest of the group before they’d launched the signal flare? He might never see them again. He hardly knew Dorian, but Sera and Cassandra? Sera was his best friend, and the Inquisition would fail without it’s Right Hand. He wasn’t sure what he would do if they were dead.

They set off early the next morning, but it wasn’t until the following evening when they found the first abandoned campfire that wasn’t dusted with snow. They’d been through here today, likely within the last few hours. They kept on into the night instead of stopping. He wasn’t sure whether or not Avexis could take another cold night without any lasting harm. 

Sure enough, a few hours later, the glow of campfires came into view over the ridge ahead. There was a small field of tents, lit with torches and bonfires, filled with people. There were more survivors here than he’d dared to hope for. It wasn’t the entire village, but it was at least half. 

He helped Avexis slide carefully down the ridge, then into the camp. They hardly stood out through the other inhabitants in their mismatched clothes, and made their way to the center unhindered. The first thing he heard was the arguing. He could make out Cassandra and Cullen clearly, then Leliana’s quieter commands. He pushed forwards and they came into view. 

The three of them were crowded around a makeshift table, arguing about their next course of action. Josephine sat off to the side next to Mother Giselle in what looked like an open-faced medical tent. He slid around the clearing, unnoticed with his hood up, and helped Avexis onto an empty bed. 

Josephine looked up, as if to ask who he was, but froze when he slid his hood down, her eyes wide. He stepped out of the tent towards the table. 

“I’m gone for a few days and you’re already arguing again?”

Their argument instantly transformed into a stunned silence. Cullen, the closest to him, took a few wary steps and set a hand on his shoulder. After a moment, the man pulled him into an unexpected embrace. The Hunter hesitantly returned the hug, staring over the Commander’s shoulder at the others. They stared back. Cassandra took a few hesitant steps forwards. 

Cullen let go and stepped back. “You… you survived? How?”

“Have you decided to stop blithering on like-“ Dorian, who’d poked his head out of a nearby tent, broke off abruptly when he saw the Hunter. He vanished back into the tent. 

A moment later the tent flap flew open, Sera practically airborne. She slammed into him at full speed, knocking him to the ground. 

“You! You bloody friggin moron! I thought- we all-“ she broke off, struggling for words, tears streaming down her face. 

He pulled her into a hug. “I’m alright. It took me a bit to get my bearings, but I’m alright.”

Sera’s yelling didn’t go unnoticed. He saw Varric stumble bleary-eyed from a tent, Vivienne behind him. Solas peered out from another. Dorian re-emerged with Blackwall, who looked to have been asleep, and the Iron Bull. They were all here, they all made it. The weight on his chest that he’d carried for days lifted. Many had died at Haven, but these few people were spared. Perhaps miracles existed after all.

Sera climbed off him and let him get to his feet. He dusted himself off and grinned. 

“Looks like I’ve survived after all.” 

Everyone kicked into action at once. The Hunter was practically carried into what he’d correctly assumed to be a medical tent. Leliana glanced at Avexis, then looked again, shock clear on her face. She nudged Cassandra over to where the Tranquil was being cared for. 

Cassandra resisted, but froze when she saw the figure lying there. She went and knelt by the bed, obscured by the crowd. Held by the others, he had little choice but to stay on his cot as she slipped away.

“I’m alright, I’m alright. I got off lucky.”

“Flighty, a mountain just fell on you, and here you are. ‘Lucky’ doesn’t even begin to describe what you just did.”

Solas laid a hand on his shoulder and pushed him gently onto a cot just as he felt his rune’s sputtering power give out completely. It had done its job, but now he needed rest. 

He all but collapsed back onto the bed, dizzy with the sudden fatigue. The voices around him grew concerned, then frantic, but he could no longer tell what they were saying. He should sit up, should reassure them, but he felt as though he were made of lead. The voices faded to white noise, then to nothing as he lost consciousness. 

~~~~~~~

Leliana collapsed into a chair for the first time in several days.. Against all odds, the Herald had returned — with a Tranquil in tow, no less. Cassandra would likely stay with her the rest of the night. She had been upset when the woman had appeared in Haven. Perhaps she had known the Tranquil when she was still a Mage? 

“I told you he’d be alright. He’s tougher than you give him credit for.” The old Hunter, Djura, spoke up from the back of their command tent. 

For the most part he was content to sit quietly and doze, not unlike many who lived to his age, though he did wander through the camp at times. They’d tried in the beginning to keep him at least slightly contained, but a few moments of inattention found the manacles on the ground and the Hunter nowhere in sight. He hadn’t gone far, just out to sit near the fire, though they’d had a few moments of panic while looking for him. 

Leliana sighed and straightened. “Such faith from someone who has said he has none.”

“A lack of faith in a religion and a lack of faith in people are two entirely different things.”

He wasn’t fishing for a response, so she didn’t give him one. They sat for a time in silence. 

A few days of recovery had done much for the veteran Hunter, though for this to count as recovery time, he must be used to harsh conditions. The shake in his hands had gone and his sharp wit had returned. He had gotten on the nerves of several people, particularly the Commander, on numerous occasions. 

She couldn’t deny that it was amusing at times, though his timing could be better, and he could come off as callous. His light humor often turned gallows black without warning. 

The maps still lie open on the table outside, and she stood and made her way to them. Sukest was unconscious a few dozen feet away, but it was hard to accept that he had returned, even when looking at him, after most of them had been so sure he wouldn’t. 

The old Hunter had always believed he’d be back, saying he’d been through worse, and Sera had taken to snapping at anyone who even hinted that he might be dead. Now the old Hunter came up behind her, deliberately making noise to signify his presence. He could be silent when he wished, even on ground like this. 

“Why do I get the feeling there’s something you aren’t telling me? He’s returned, and you sang your hymn, Chant, whatever you call it, so why do I feel as though I’m a step away from being pushed from the nearest cliff?”

He had been nothing but a boon so far, despite his somewhat aggravating tendencies. He should at least know how things stood. “Sukest has no memory of his past.”

“... Ah. That certainly explains a few things, though I can’t deny that it’s inconvenient.” She couldn’t see him, but she could hear the slump in his shoulders reflected in his voice. 

“There is a chance he could recognize you. He has shown at least an intuitive knowledge of his past, and retains a good number of what I can only call habits.” It didn’t hurt that he’d mentioned Djura before, though he’d been piss drunk at the time. 

Perhaps they could try that again, in a particular direction this time. His lost memory might have been lost in the Fade, but whatever mental block was placed there must be lowered with the rest of his filters. If a nagging part of her mind thought that he might be lying and couldn’t keep it up while intoxicated, well, she would consider that later.

“It’s something, I suppose. Time will tell, then.”

“That it will.”

She could see Cassandra, further into the tent, still kneeling by the unconscious Tranquil. Keeping a vigil, perhaps? They had thought Avexis lost like so many others. To have her back must be quite a shock. She took a deep breath, then studied the maps in front of her.

“Looking for anything in particular? You’ve spent so long staring at them, I would think you had them memorized by now.”

“The Hunters had to have come from somewhere. A force that size doesn’t just appear.” She had made it her mission to learn more of the attack on Haven, starting with possible locations they could have set out from. 

“I’ve told you before that I was in eastern Fereldan. Though, that was a Templar stronghold. The Hunters don’t have outposts, they’re obsolete outside of the city — or so we think.”

“This city you speak of does not exist.” She had scoured the maps she had for hours, then sent for foreign maps when hers failed her. She had begun the search when she’d first heard the name Yharnam so long ago, but all it had gotten her was dead scouts. 

“Oh, it does. I might wish it didn’t, but it certainly stands.”

“The country of Carim doesn’t exist either,” she snapped. As far as she could tell it wasn’t a code name or local name for any of the countries she knew. “Neither does Astora, or Catarina, or Vinheim. For all I hope you are telling the truth, you have given me very little to verify your intent.”

“I haven’t lied, though I suppose my word means little at this point.” They stood in silence a moment. “He’s from Vinheim, you know. Sukest, I mean. A cold, mountainous place. This probably feels like home to him, even if he doesn’t remember it.”

She massaged her temples. “Vinheim, with the old legends of sorcery and dragons?”

“That’s the one. Until recently I’d have been convinced they were only legends, but just a few walls of canvas away are people who can toss fire and lightning the way most people skip rocks on water.”

“You’ve truly never seen magic before?”

“I’ve seen whatever the fuck it is the Choir throws at people, though I don’t think it’s the same thing.”

The Choir, he had explained, was a group of young geniuses at the top of the Hunter’s organization. His description matched the woman they’d encountered in Redcliffe. It was one of the few reasons she had to trust him. “And this Healing Church of yours, they don’t use magic either?”

“They use blood to heal. I’d doubt it but I’ve seen it myself. A mortal wound can be healed in a few weeks, anything else in days. That Mage, Vivienne, told me of those here gifted with healing, though their methods are quite different.”

Heavy footsteps in the snow betrayed Cullen’s presence before he came into view, nearly dragging his feet. They were all exhausted from the last few days. Djura straightened and gave a mock salute. Cullen just sighed, too tired to rise to the taunt. The veteran was fond of needling the Commander for leading from the middle of the camp instead of the front, with his forces. The two had argued since the man had arrived, though it had yet to evolve past sharp words and raised voices.

He ignored the old Hunter entirely.“He’s right over there, and I can still hardly believe he’s back.” 

“I know the feeling.” She offered a tired smile. “I keep looking over to make sure I haven’t imagined it.”

Sukest had given them quite the scare when he’d just returned, only to collapse, unresponsive. Extreme exhaustion, the healers said. The thing he needed most right now was rest, plain and simple. Djura turned from the table and started towards the tent where he was sleeping. 

“Where are you going?” Cullen started after him. 

“Relax, I’m hardly about to stab him.” He stopped by the Herald’s bed and looked down at the sleeping figure. 

“And how do we know that?”

“You took all my knives, I’ve nothing left to stab with.” He looked down at the sleeping figure, his grin dropping. He lowered a hand to brush the hair from the man’s face. “It’s… it’s been a while. It’s good to see him.”

Leliana went to stand next to him. How well had they known each other? “Is he everything you remember?”

“He’s… changed, since I last saw him.” Djura watched him a moment longer. “He’s certainly looking healthier, his recent stroll aside. When I first met him he was terribly thin, pale as a ghost. I hadn’t thought he’d make it through his first Hunt. It’s good to see he’s doing so much better.”

When he’d first arrived, he’d been pale and twitchy, gaunt and strained. He really had changed. Leliana looked down at him. His frame had filled out considerably, to a healthier state, and his time in the sun had darkened his sickly pale complexion to something that looked alive. 

Wherever he came from, she had to admit: it was good to have him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the last time, Sera is not the romance. Like five people have asked me. 
> 
> Here, have like five new candidates for it. Cast your votes now, I guess. They won’t change my plans but you can cast them if you want I guess :3


	33. You really like digging yourself holes don’t you

Consciousness returned slowly. It was mid-morning, perhaps midday, if the sunlight streaming down was any indication. The Hunter was still in the medical tent. His things were leaned against it, the blades carefully cleaned to prevent rust. Someone had set the Evelyn on the nightstand, the accumulated dirt and grime scraped meticulously from the detailing. 

Avexis was asleep on a cot a half-dozen feet away. Between them sat Solas, book in hand. He glanced at the Hunter when he turned the page and, seeing him awake, closed the book and set it aside. 

The Mage waved to someone outside the tent and Sera was there in an instant, concern clear on her face. “Gave us a scare, you know. Another one, I mean.”

“How long have I been out?”

“Just for the night. We weren’t expecting you up yet, actually. How do you feel?”

“Tired and sore, but I’ll live.” Seeing everyone alive was more than he could have asked for, and was well worth a few bruises. 

“Understandable. Avexis told us you’ve been following us through the mountains.” Solas stood and stretched, then went over to him.

“Didn’t have much of a choice. There isn’t… isn’t a whole lot of Haven standing. The upper chantry is about all that’s left.” His heart sank as he spoke. He hadn’t considered anywhere home in a long time, but Haven had come dangerously close. 

Solas bowed his head. “It was a great loss, one not easily forgotten. People were beginning to lose hope. But just as all seemed lost, here you are again.”

“I’m never going to shake the idea that I’m holy, am I? I can’t just be incredibly lucky? No one here believes in luck.” Or a lack thereof, depending on how you looked at it. 

Solas laughed softly. “No. If anything, this has deepened the people’s faith. Last night they gathered to sing their hymns.”

He sighed. “Figures. Ah, well.”

Sera fidgeted nervously. “Hey, so…”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, not really. Just… there’s someone here. Says he knows you.”

“Just before we were attacked,” Solas explained, “A lone Hunter approached, gave us warning. His warning saved many lives and has protected him for now, but it is unlikely to last long.”

The Hunter pushed himself up. “A lone Hunter?”

“He claims to know you. However, given certain circumstances…”

A Hunter? “Can… can I see them?”

“Of course. Wait here,” he continued, as the Hunter moved to stand. “I’ll bring him.”

He vanished into the camp. The camp, though set up hastily, kept its occupants at least somewhat comfortable. Wagons and beasts of burden were scattered through the snow, tents set up to keep the worst of the weather out. In sharp contrast to the quiet, tense atmosphere of the night before, the camp was bright and buzzing with activity. 

“They missed you. The people here, even the little ones- they all love you. Almost had a revolt when you didn’t come back. That woulda’ been it for the Inquisition, I think.”

“I’m glad I made it back, then.”

“So am I.” She stared off, into the camp, and then her face lit up. “Oh, speaking of! I kept it safe while you were gone. Didn’t let anyone look through it,” she said, pulling his notebook from her jacket and handing it to him. 

“Ah. Thank you.” It was good to have it back.

Solas returned a few minutes later, someone behind him. The man had shoulder-length hair, once dark, now streaked heavily with grey. He had a clean bandage in place over one eye, while the other watched him intently. 

It took him a moment to place the man. He’d been cleaned up, no longer carrying the soot and grime of Old Yharnam. The old Hunter gave him a half-smile. “I hear you’ve managed to hit your head. I don’t suppose you recognize me?”

For a tense moment, the Hunter only stared. “I... Djura?” He was here? How? Why?

The man sagged in relief. “Ah, thank the gods. How much to you remember?”

Fuck. Well, he didn’t need to fake confusion, at least. Any odd behavior in his part could be attributed to the events of the last few days. “I… I have a drawing of you. It has your name on it.” Well, he was pretty sure he’d written the name down. He started flipping through his notebook. 

”Ah. Not recognition, but it’s more than just my word.” Djura looked to Solas. “Is it enough for you?”

The Hunter found the page and held it up. Sure enough, Djura, face towards him but the rest of him turned to look out over Old Yharnam. The smoke obscured all but the outlines of most buildings, but is was still very clearly a city. 

“It will be up to Leliana,” Solas said, “but I believe it will be enough for her.”

The Mage took the retired Hunter to go find the mentioned spymaster, leaving the Good Hunter with Sera. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed. There was much to be done, and he could hardly do it from here. 

“What do ya think you’re doin’?”

“Getting up?”

Sera didn’t look terribly impressed. “You’ve been up for days. You just carried someone through the mountains for the better part of a week. 

Had it been that long? “How is she? Avexis, I mean.”

“She’s been asleep. You’ve only missed Cassandra by a few hours. I think they knew each other?”

“Avexis said she knew her when she was young, but didn’t see her for years after she was made Tranquil. ”

“She’s Tranquil?” Sera shivered. “Why’d you bring her?” Creepy, Sera often called them. 

“Tranquil or not, she’s still a person. We’ve lost enough people, I wasn’t about to leave another to die.” He tried not to be angry, with only mild success.

He might have been a bit harsh, if Sera’s expression was something to go by. “They just… they’re not even people! Not people people, they’re like people with all the guts scooped out!”

“That’s hardly their fault!” He took a deep breath, tried to calm himself. “It was something done to them, not something they did to themselves. You might be willing to hold that against them, but I won’t.”

“They- I-“ She huffed. “And maybe you’re right, but they’re friggin scary, okay? I get you aren’t scared of anything, but try to spare the rest of us a thought!”

“I… Alright. It’s been… a long few days, I think, for the both of us.”

They sat for a moment in silence. Then, “What’s this?”

Sera, poking carefully at the Bowblade, looked up at him from where she was crouched. 

“A handy weapon, for sure.” He stood and picked it up. 

“A big wavy sword? Why’d you carry it here?”

The Hunter grinned, pulled the catch, and flipped the blade to its bow form. The blood gems carefully embedded in it caught the light, shining brightly. 

For a moment, Sera only stared. “That’s… that’s friggin’ great! Where’d you get that?!”

“I didn’t figure its last user had any further use for it. I figured it would make hunting for food much easier.” Not technically a lie. Simon was a bit too dead to fire it. At least he hadn’t been the one to kill the man. 

“Do you have arrows for it?”

“Kind of.” He took a bullet from an inner pocket after glancing around to be sure no one was looking. “Watch.” He pulled at the blood in the bullet, spun the mercury out into a long, slender arrow. He offered it to Sera. 

She took it hesitantly. “New trick, then?”

“You could say that. A useful one, for sure.”

A distance away, across the makeshift road, he saw Cassandra headed for them. He slid the arrow up his sleeve. That was a conversation for another time. 

The Seeker looked exhausted. She was unarmored, wearing only her cloth and leather padding, and unarmed for the first time the Hunter had seen. Exhausted, but still steady, she made her way over to them, eyeing the Bowblade but not commenting on it. 

“Cassandra. What can I do for you?” Was she alright? She looked almost ready to collapse. She might have, were it not for her extreme force or will. 

She looked almost unsure, hesitant, but spoke anyways. “I wanted to thank you. You not only survived, but you came back, and brought Avexis with you.”

He set the bow down. “I’d hardly leave her behind. Besides, where would I go?”

“You’ve exceptional skill in combat, and now survival as well. You could have gone anywhere, yet you came back.”

He could have, in theory, but why would he? Had she thought he could have survived, but had chosen to leave? “Of course. I could hardly abandon the people out here. Besides, with everything that’s happened I’ve got a whole new debt to settle with the Elder One.”

“What sort of debt?” Sera popped up between them.

“I’m going to kill him for what he’s done, him and anyone who’s helped him. He called himself Corypheus, prattled on and on about his plans. Apparently the explosion at the Conclave was the result of his ritual.”

“A ritual? To create the Breach?” Cassandra was surprised, but not suspicious. 

“Perhaps as a side effect. The ritual was to create this.” He held up his hand, pushed on the mark to make it spark. “The Anchor, he called it. Years in the making he said, and I just happened to steal it by chance.” Corypheus come to Haven for the Anchor. Its fall was his fault for stealing it, the least he could do was get revenge for them. 

“It wasn’t your fault.” Cole stood at the Hunter’s side, appearing as if from nowhere. Sera started and scrambled back, while Cassandra instinctively reached for a weapon she wasn’t wearing. “You mustn’t blame yourself.”

“Cole.” Where had he been?

The boy’s pale blue eyes met his. “There was nothing you could have done. You needn’t carry it with you.”

Wasn’t there? He could have done something- helped more people escape, could have been out on the front earlier instead of celebrating. “And I should, what, let him get away with this?” He would hunt down Corypheus for this, would put him down like a wild dog. 

“Anger will do nothing to help you. It will consume you if you encourage it, like the others.”

“What should I do, then? Let this go? Decide it didn’t matter?” He was trying not to be angry with the boy, not to shout, but his patience had worn thin with recent events. 

“This… I’ve gone about it wrong. You should forget.” Cole looked genuinely upset, head bowed and hands held tightly. 

“Forget? And how do you propose I do that?”

Cole stared up at his with wide eyes. “You- I didn’t think She held- You weren’t meant to be here, She-“ 

“Who? Who is this ‘she’?” Did this boy know why he was here? How he got here?

“Sukest.” Cassandra put a hand on his shoulder. He hadn’t entirely realized it, but he’d rounded on the boy, had been on the verge of stalking forwards. 

Cole, not quite backpedaling but close, met his gaze with fearful eyes, stuttering and searching for something to say but coming up blank. 

Sera was up, trying not to be directly between them but still in the way. “Hey, what’s with you?”

The Hunter stifled a growl and took another deep breath. The boy in front of him was almost cowering, but stance aside he showed no signs of fear. His breathing and pulse were quiet, and his hands had no tremor. “What are you?”

“I’m Cole.”

“I know who you are, you told me that already. What are you?”

Sera, looking between Cole and the Hunter, slowly started to back away. 

“How? How have you…? I didn’t…”

“I don’t know what you are, but you aren’t human. Explain yourself.”

“I- I’m not the one you should ask. Your friend, the one who dreams-”

A friend who dreams? “Do you mean Solas?” He glanced to Sera, who nodded and took off through the tents. 

Cassandra studied the boy carefully. “Cole, is it? Where have you come from?”

“I brought the Hunter, the old one, covered in ash. He was trying to leave, to escape, but the others didn’t want him to. I brought him to you, but we didn’t get here in time to warn you. I’m sorry.”

He’d brought Djura? “Brought him from where?”

Sera came bounding back through the crowd, Solas in tow. The soldiers, luckily, were too busy keeping the makeshift camp together to pay them much mind, though a few hovered about, curious about the disturbance. 

“From a fort, far away, full of Fear. It’s pulled them apart, made them act, do things they never would have done.”

Solas, as he neared, slowed a bit, looking between Cole and the Hunter. “What seems to be the problem?”

The Hunter, still turned towards Cole, didn’t move to face the Mage. “What is this? Not human, for sure, but he says you can explain.”

Cole looked up at the Mage. “He worries. Most things like me are threats, dangerous things that need to be put down. I’m not like them, I don’t want to be.”

Solas studied the boy for a moment. “What do you call yourself, and why have you come here?”

“I’m Cole. I want to help.”

“Cole. Would you mind coming with me?” Solas glanced to the Hunter. “If I am correct, you’ve nothing to fear, though I would like to be sure.”

The Hunter relaxed his stance marginally. “Of course.”

The two went off, weaving their way through the crowd. The Hunter actually relaxed once they were out of sight, still looking out over the camp.

“How’d you figure?”

“Hmm?”

Sera popped up beside him. “What gave it away, that he wasn’t human?”

“His fear, or his lack of it, really. His breathing was steady and his pulse was calm, though he was cowering. Whatever he is, he’s learned to act human, but his body hasn’t. Not entirely, at least.”

She paused for a moment. “Can you hear a pulse?” 

“Hear is… hmm. It’s closer to feeling it.” Useful in combat, being able to tell where things were without looking at them. 

Cassandra sighed. Right, this was probably another blood mage thing. The Hunter stepped back into the tent, a bit back from the edge. “How have things been here? Before I arrived, I mean.”

“Things have brightened considerably since you got here. Before you reappeared, the people nearly lost their hope. Most here are not from the mountains, but have come for the Inquisition.”

They didn’t know how to survive up here, then. “How are supplies? Is there enough for everyone here?” Were the people cold or going hungry? Were the pack animals cared for?

“We’ve scraped by, but the situation is far from ideal. Leliana’s scouts hunt and forage what they can, and some managed to grab supplies as they fled the village.”

They had some resources at least. The Hunter stepped back towards his weapons. “Let’s see what I can do to help, then.”

“Hey. No, you sit back down.” Sera popped up in front of him. “You just got here, we’ll live another few days while you recover.”

Recover from what? He was a bit tired, but otherwise he was fine. “I’ll be alright.”

She didn’t look terribly impressed, but she couldn’t stop him. “At least get something to eat first.”

That he could do. One of the scouts came by with food before too long, dried fruit and something like a porridge. Cassandra went back to the camp, hopefully back to sleep. She didn’t look like she’d gotten much of it. 

With Sera (sort of) placated, the Hunter retrieved the Bowblade and set out. He crossed paths with a few other scouts while he was out, most of whom were elated that he was up and about. 

It wasn’t his most successful hunting trip, but it was still a success. The quartermaster looked thrilled, and he promised to show the scouts who weren’t used to the mountains a few of his tricks. 

Djura was in the medical tent when he returned, and stood from his chair as the Hunter approached. 

“You’ve been cleared by Leliana, then?”

The old Hunter grinned. “She’s decided I’m useful enough to keep around, at least. Her need for information outweighs her mistrust.”

“Excellent. I don’t suppose you know what’s going on, then?”

“I’m told you’ve little memory of the world. Is there anything in particular you’d like to know?”

The Hunter lowered his voice to avoid being overheard. “I woke up here with pointy ears. What the actual fuck is going on?”

He blinked. “I had been wondering about that, actually. So your amnesia…”

“Is greatly exaggerated. I’ve only got a few holes, one of them being how I got here.”

“Ah.” The man studied him for a moment. “It is a bit of a jump, being used to elves and dwarves.”

“Let’s not forget the dragons.”

“Are those real here? I thought they were only in legends.”

“I thought the same until I saw one.”

Djura laughed. “This place is like one of those old stories, with sorcerers and gods around every corner.”

“If you don’t already know, they dislike anything blood-related. I’m on watch for being some kind of strange mage.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. I don’t use the blood much these days, it shouldn’t be much of an issue.” He paused. “Though, I must ask… do you still dream?”

“I do.”

He sagged in relief. “Thank the gods. Does Gherman know what’s happened? He’s cryptic with his advice, though it’s usually sound. Have you seen him since all this started?”

Gherman was a bit too dead to know anything, but that was a conversation for another time. “No. I’ve asked the Doll, but she’s said nothing about this.”

“Doll…? Ah. It’s been some time since I dreamed, the details escape me. She knows nothing?”

“If she does, she hasn’t told me.” The Hunter was inclined to believe her when she said she didn’t know. She’d never lied to him before, why would she start now?

“Hmm. I’m afraid I’ve as much of a gap as you. I was in Old Yharnam, and then I was waking up here. To be honest, I was hoping you knew more than I did.”

The Hunter sighed. “Not much to go on, then. I assume it’s the same of the other Hunters?”

“According to those who would speak with me. My sudden absence left me few friends among them.”

Understandable. “Mysteries aside, how has Thedas been to you?”

“It’s been… fresh. Clean. It is not without its own hardships, but it has been a good place for me.”

“You’ve heard of the war, I assume?”

“I have. The Templars have allied with the Hunters for now, and they fight under the same banner.”

“The leader of the Seekers, some upper group of Templars, had a Radiant badge.”

Djura nodded. “I haven’t met the man myself, but I’ve heard of him. I’ve heard of you, too. You’ve been making quite the name for yourself.”

“They’ve taken to calling me some kind of prophet. ‘Herald of Andraste’, they say. Supposedly I fell out of the fade near the Breach.”

“They think highly of you. Morale was low until you came stumbling out of the snow. Many had been ready to give up.”

“They’re good people. We lost more than I’d hoped, but I’m glad so many survived.”

“I’m told there are Mages here? Tell me, can they actually use magic? The Templars insisted they could, but I’ve yet to see it.”

“They can. Fire and ice and lightning. It’s a sight to behold.”

“And they think you’re one of them?”

“Sort of. I don’t have any of their magical energy, but they say the properties of the healing blood are magical. A member of the Choir, now deceased, had a clinic set up a in a town about week and a half away.”

“Ah. I’d guess they didn’t take it well.”

“Better than I’d hoped, but no, not well. Tevinter influence, they say. It’s a country to the north, one known for blood magic.”

“Claiming amnesia has had its advantages.”

“It certainly has. A shame to lie to these people after all they’ve done for me, but I can’t deny that I’ve learned more of this place than I would have otherwise.”

“And speaking of those people, here’s one now.”

Solas was on his way back, though he was without Cole. “Sukest. Djura.”

“Solas.” The Hunter smiled. Djura gave a bow. “Where has Cole gotten off to?”

“He’ll not have gone far. He’s determined to stay nearby, helping however he can.”

“What is he, exactly?”

“A spirit of Compassion. How he maintains a human form, I do not know, but his nature remains intact.”

A spirit? “I thought the world warped them to demons when they crossed through the rifts?”

“In most cases, yes, though there have been a few exceptions. As it stands, as long has he is allowed to keep his nature, I see little chance of danger from him.”

Strange, but, for the time being, harmless. “Good to know. Thank you, Solas.”

“It’s no trouble. It’s good to know that spirits can remain true to themselves, even in circumstances such as these.”

“Spirits and demons.” Djura laughed. “Such a strange place.”

“You are unfamiliar?”

“I’ve known men who acted like demons, but I’ve yet to see any for myself. I’ve only heard tales of them, Cole aside. Such a nice young man. He’s the only reason I made the trek here at all. He seemed rather human to me.”

“You mentioned you were a retired Hunter?”

“Retired is what I generally say, yes. I had a few… disagreements, renounced my Hunter’s vows, and left. No one came after me, or at least none that I know of. This was… years ago, now. Most had forgotten me, until recently.”

“Yet you still carry their equipment, wear their armor?”

“The workshop that once produced these tools no longer exists. The same can be said for my armor. I keep them as a reminder for my fallen friends, and because I would be a fool to dispose of them. Should the Hunters decide I cannot be left alive, I would rather enjoy having the means to defend myself.”

“Do you think they could have followed you here?”

“No, they were planning to come before I set out. I only wish I could have given you a warning. We were… delayed, on the way. What coin I have is no good here, and the locals are far from friendly to foreigners.”

“Where were you, before you were here? I imagine you’ve been questioned already, and I don’t mean to interrogate, but if you don’t mind…?”

Djura laughed. “It’s no trouble. I’ve nothing else to do. I was in eastern Fereldan. It was quite the trek here.”

“Is that where the Hunters are based? So close?”

“No, the Hunters were only there for the Templars. They’ve banded together under a singular cause, though I’m afraid I only know a few of their objectives, not their goal.”

“From where have the Hunters come, then?”

“See, this is what we’re trying to puzzle out, your spymaster and I. None of your maps here are familiar to me. I didn’t learn the name of the country I was in until I started traveling through it.”

“Unfamiliar? Even with the name of your own country?”

“You see, I know the name of my country, and the names of the surrounding countries, but none of them are on your maps. I’ve studied maps of my homeland, but not even the land masses match yours. I’ve no memories of traveling overseas to get here, but we’ve yet to rule out some kind of magic, either for the travel or for the memories.”

“Do Hunters possess the ability to alter memories?”

“These days it’s hard to tell. I’ve heard nothing of it, but the upper echelons are always up to something. You see, most Hunters are hardly anything other than glorified butchers.”

“Then the bulk of your organization knows nothing of the higher tiers?”

“Correct. It is easier to keep a leash on someone who knows little else.”

“What do you know of the organization as a whole?”

“More than most. I was in a… unique position, for a time. What I learned then was enough to drive me away. The Hunters operate under the Healing Church, known for their blood healing. It’s what allowed them to take power so easily.”

“This Healing Church, is it connected somehow to the Chantry?”

“I’d never heard of the Chantry until I was loose in Ferelden. If they’re connected, they’ve hidden it well. The Healing Church is led publicly by a figure holding the title of Vicar, though I don’t know who the current Vicar is.”

“Do you know anyone who would? You left the Hunters, could there others who are willing to do the same?”

“I suspect most in the lower ranks would not care as I do, though I did find a few friends.”

“Do you have contact with them?”

“Ha! Most of my friends are dead. Most who survived, I haven’t spoken with in years. I had few ways of interacting with the Hunters once I left.”

“I… my condolences.”

“Don’t you worry, I’ve had my time to mourn. I’m afraid to say my most reliable contact in the Hunters is standing right here.” Djura leaned over and tapped the Hunter on the shoulder. 

The Hunter, who had been nearly dozing, startled. Solas, thankfully, seemed to take this for surprise. 

“When I’d heard he was here, I started out. A few Hunters took offense when I left. Thankfully, I had Cole to help me sneak out. He’d been near the Templars, said there was something wrong with them.”

“Fear, growing stronger and stronger. It pushed, pushes, pulls them along.” Cole appeared from behind Solas, though he hadn’t been there a moment ago. “It’s why they came to Haven. Fear opened the door for corruption, and that pulls them further.”

“Cole.” The Hunter straightened. 

Djura smiled warmly. “I was wondering where you’d gotten off to.”

“I’ve been helping. There are lots of people here who need help.”

“I’m sure there are. We’ve a long road ahead of us. Though, there is one thing I’d like to ask.” The old Hunter straightened and stretched. “Do you know where they’ve put my things? I’d imagine my weapons are in a sorry state. Getting here was my top priority for some time.”

“I believe Leliana has them,” Solas answered, “Though she may have handed them to Harritt.”

“I can show you. I found them earlier.” Cole hovered around the old Hunter, not nervously, but with a certain energy about him. Though, that could just be some spirit kind of energy. 

“Thank you, Cole.” Djura gave Solas a short bow. “I’ll take my leave, then.”

“We’ll continue another time.”

Cole led Djura off towards Harritt’s makeshift station, near the edge of the camp. The Hunter waited until they’d disappeared among the tents before he spoke. 

“They make quite the pair, don’t they?” If any Hunter was going to attract a spirit of Compassion, it would be Djura. 

“An unlikely team, but they seem to have found common ground.” Solas stared after them for another moment before facing the Hunter. “Though, there was something I wanted to talk to you about.”

Solas led him through the camp, away from the cliff they were sheltered by, to a frozen outlook. From here, a good portion of the mountain was visible, along with several of the mountains beyond. 

The sun glaring off the snow as it set made it almost too bright to look at, but the Hunter couldn’t bear to tear his eyes away. It was beautiful here, the air clean and crisp. Beautiful, but not ideal for keeping a camp full of refugees alive. 

“What did you want to talk about, Solas?”

“Our next destination. We cannot stay here forever.”

“Do you have somewhere in mind? The maps we have don’t show anywhere nearby.”

“As far as I know, it has been forgotten. It wouldn’t be on any existing map. There is an old elvhen hold, here in the mountains. I found it here as I walked through the fade. I believe it is exactly what we need.”

A fortress in the mountains? “What do you know about it?”

“It is called Skyhold. It has been abandoned and forgotten, weathered by time, but still it stands. It is difficult to say what it once was, but I believe it matters more what it could become.”

“Is it in good enough condition for us to use?” 

“As far as I’ve seen. It lies a week of steady travel to the north. The people here look up to you. Your return gave them hope. They believe in you, for religious purposes or otherwise. If you lead them, they will follow.”

“Even into the unknown?”

“They are already in the unknown. You will guide them back to safety.”

Well, that was… a bit frightening to think about, if he was being honest. “If they’ll follow, I’ll do what I can to lead.”

Solas watched him curiously. “I have seen many leaders, both in the world and the fade. What sort of leader are you hoping to be?”

“I… I don’t know. I can lead them physically, but won’t they want a leader who isn’t, you know, some kind of foreign blood mage?”

Solas’ expression remained passive, his pulse calm. “Perhaps, but no one else has come forwards. You are the one who closed the Breach, you are the one who defended Haven as its people escaped. You have done impossible things, yet you have not taken a position of authority. You treat the people here as though every one of them is on the same tier as you are.”

“Of course. Maybe they don’t fight like I do, but they can do things I never could. I can ride a horse, but I have no idea how to care for one.”

“And this perspective is why the people respect you. Many others, were they in your position, would pull for every scrap of power they could. You have actively avoided this.”

“I’ll lead them through the mountains, but what happens next is for them to decide, not me.”

Solas smiled. “We shall see what they decide, then.” His smile dropped. “Though, there is one more thing I wanted to discuss.”

“What is it?”

“The creature who created the Breach, Corypheus, you called him. I believe he used a relic to create it.” 

“Would this relic happen to be an orb? Swirling metal, the size of a melon?”

Solas seemed to deflate. “Yes. You’ve seen it?”

“He was holding it when I saw him. What is it, exactly?” 

“It’s an old elvhen artifact. I wanted to be certain before I came forwards. With the way Elves are already treated…”

“You think things would get worse if the knowledge that this was caused by an elven artifact got out.”

“I do, yes.”

He was probably right. Maybe the elves of today had nothing to do with it, but most wouldn’t see it that way. He’d seen the way elves were treated in the Hinterlands, how they were servants in Val Royeaux. 

“I won’t say anything, then.” For the time being, revealing this wouldn’t help anything. 

“Thank you.”

They stood on the outlook in silence for a few more minutes before they returned to the camp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This felt like the chapter that never ended, but finally, here it is :3


	34. Finally something happens

It was cold, but ultimately survivable. The Hunter slid down another snow drift, Bowblade in hand. The camp was packing up a ways behind him, getting ready to move again. Dawn was just starting, the sun’s light reflecting pink and orange on the snow. 

“It’s friggin freezing out here!” Sera tumbled down after him, then righted herself at the bottom. She was shivering, despite her thick coat.

“Might I suggest you stop burying yourself in the snow?”

“Shove off. Not everyone has perfect balance.” She stood up and dusted herself off. “What are we even looking for out here?”

“A way through for the wagons. Near the trees, preferably. If they’ve managed to take root the ground will be steady around them.”

“It’s snow everywhere, it all looks the same.”

“It’s all snow, but not all the snow has ground right under it. If you step wrong you might fall through, especially if it’s just fallen.”

She froze and glanced at the ground around her feet. 

“Not this ground, you can see stone through the snow. But the big stretches of nothing, away from the sides, those are what we should watch out for. The snow there hasn’t settled, so it’s difficult to tell what’s under it.”

“... so the trees are safe, you say?”

He laughed. “They should be. We might be able to hunt a bit, if we can get there some time today.”

“Oh, shush, you.”

They did hunt when they got there, after they found a decent way through for the wagons. Or rather, he hunted and Sera chattered. It might have cost him a shot or two, but he didn’t mind her company. There were a few of Leliana’s more mountain-apt scouts in the same area, doing the same thing they were. 

The camp was up and ready to move when they got back sometime around mid-morning. This was the fourth day of travel, and spirits were surprisingly high. Most of the wagons were in good repair, though they’d lost some animals to predators and exposure. 

Avexis was up and about, after being unconscious for a solid day. Exhaustion, the healers said. She would make a full recovery in time. For now, she was lending Djura a hand with repairs. 

At first, the people had been understandably wary of this new Hunter. He’d come up out of nowhere just before the village was attacked. Some, however, were beginning to warm up to him. He was good with his hands and spent his time repairing equipment; be it rickety carts, torn or bent up tents, or anything Harritt pointed the old Hunter towards.

No one was quite sure what to make of Dorian. People muttered about ‘that damn Magister’ whenever they thought he wasn’t looking, but his strong tie to elemental magic was keeping half the camp from freezing to death, so no one was openly objecting to him just yet. 

The Hunter slid through the carts, Sera stumbling after him, until he found what was functioning as their command center. It was closer to the back of the line, near the wagons carrying the most crucial supplies. They had a table set up in one of the larger carts with a rough map of the area on it. Solas marked where Skyhold was, or at least where he thought it was. 

Cullen was standing by the wagon, Cassandra next to him. Josephine was sitting on the back, and waved as he approached. 

“You have returned! Have you found the day’s path?”

“I have. We got lucky, there’s a fairly flat stretch of ground between a cliff and some trees. Shouldn’t be nearly as bad as yesterday. We should be able to make up some of our lost time. It’s flat enough that we shouldn’t lose any more horses, either.” They’d lost a few the day before to the uneven ground. A horse with a broken leg was better off as food for the people, which they were also low on, but they still needed horses to pull the wagons. 

There hadn’t been much in terms of shelter, and they’d had a slow, careful trek across a series of plateaus. A few of the outer carts had sunken down over a frozen river, and it had taken hours to get them back out. He was just glad the river had been frozen enough to hold their weight. 

“That’s certainly welcome news. The sooner we can get out of the open, the better.” Cullen had a rough time getting the soldiers together, and though morale was high, it was a tense situation. There had yet to be any fighting among the troops, but it was always a possibility. 

The Hunter vaulted into the cart to go over the map. “Has Leliana been by recently?”

“I believe she’s gone ahead to consult with her hunting parties.” Cassandra climbed up behind him while he made a rough outline of their path. 

They were moving on down the path before too long, the Hunter and several scouts positioned along the wagon chain in case of any mishaps. Luckily, things went smoothly for the day. 

They found a sheltered spot to set down for the night and sent out their hunting parties again. They had their grain stores and part of the larder, but that wouldn’t last to Skyhold if they didn’t supplement them. 

The next day’s route proved to be a bit risky, the uneven ground and steep paths difficult for the carts, but they made it through. The next few days followed the routine they’d set up with only a few minor changes. He set out in the mornings, sometimes with Sera, sometimes without, to scout the days path, then did a bit of hunting before he went back to help the group.

On the ninth day, when the Hunter climbed up the next ridge to scout ahead, he saw Skyhold for the first time. The great stone mass sat atop a steep peak, though there was a winding path cut into the stone below it. He couldn’t see much of it, but it was unmistakable, and he slid back down through the snow with a grin on his face.

They were about four days away, well over halfway there, and things were going surprisingly well. They’d kept the majority of their horses alive, and if they had any luck at all while hunting, their food would last. Not comfortably, but it would last. On the third of those days, however, their luck ran out. 

It was snowing, not quite a blizzard, but enough to be concerning. Near the mid-afternoon they came across a frozen river. Or at least it, appeared to be frozen, until the first few carts were on it. 

The first few cracks were sharp and loud, echoing through the valley. The Hunter sprinted towards the front of the line, skidding to a halt just before the ice began. 

He carefully made his way out, skating more than stepping. Several of the other scouts were already there, helping the people back to the riverbank. The horses were starting to worry, stamping and huffing. They’d fall through if they were left out there. 

He cut the first cart’s horses free and led them back to the group, then went out again. Several of the others had caught up with him by now, though most weren’t sure how to help. 

The ice groaned and strained, smaller cracks appearing near the wagon wheels, but didn’t give. Sera appeared beside him to help with the horses, and he saw Cole and Cassandra behind him. 

There was someone in one of the carts still, and they were trying to get them out. He handed the horses to Sera and went to investigate. 

It was some noble’s kid, a boy who couldn’t have been older than ten. He was curled up in the back of the cart. The Hunter climbed up next to him, all top aware of the ice’s protest. 

He helped the child to the ground. Cassandra took his hand and started back. Her armor made her the heaviest, she would be better off on the banks. 

Almost in response to that thought, the ice shifted alarmingly under their feet. They needed to move, and quickly. The Hunter slid out of the cart, then started carefully sliding it back. He pulled a few of the smaller crates into the Dream, crates he hoped wouldn’t be missed, but if this wagon wasn’t lighter it wouldn’t make it back to the bank. 

It slid easily on the ice, and near the bank a few soldiers came to get it. He started back for the second one. Cole was there already, making slow progress, but progress all the same. He sent off a few more crates and started pushing. 

There were larger fractures now, some pieces disconnected from the shell over the river that moved when he stepped on them. The third cart might be a lost cause, but he was at least going to try. 

Cassandra came back out with him, and the pair of them started on the last cart. A few of the scouts started taking crates and carrying them separately. The wheels caught on the now uneven ice, but they started back to the shore. 

Until they got about halfway back it seemed like they were going to make it. Then one of the wheels punched through, revealing stretches of the fast, freezing river beneath. 

They all backed away, over-aware of their footing, and started back for the shore. If the ice re-froze overnight they could see about retrieving the rest of the supplies. Perhaps they’d only lose the actual wagon. 

Or so it seemed, for a moment. The ice shifted, and with a sudden, deafening crack and a quieter splash, Cassandra was no longer walking next to him. 

He unclipped his jacket and tossed it at the nearest scout, along with his hat. They would only slow him down. 

He took a deep breath and dove under the ice. The cold almost knocked the breath right out of him, but he kept going. The current under the ice was fast enough that he didn’t need to swim, but as it pushed him along it pulled him away from the rest of the group. 

He would have a few minutes at best, even with his rune, before he was too frozen to do anything. Luckily Cassandra’s armor slowed her down enough for him to reach her fairly quickly, and he pulled her towards the bank. 

The river was frozen over, so he pulled his Saif from the Dream and shoved it into the ice as the current pulled them along. It caught in only a few seconds, took him a precious minute to break through the ice. 

Cassandra was hardly conscious, her chain hauberk and layers of wool heavy and as cold as the actual ice, but he managed to pull her up out of the water. They were a good ways off from the rest of the group, far enough that he couldn’t see their lights, but that hardly meant anything in this weather. 

For now, the best thing to do would be find shelter and start a fire. Warmth was the top priority. There was a cliff nearby, that would at least block some of the wind and snow. 

He snapped on the Executioner’s garb. The ornate stitching and meticulously dyed cloth seemed a bit overkill to him, but it was warm and, most importantly, dry. It wouldn’t solve all his problems, but the thick layers of heavy cloth were infinitely better than wet leather. If Cassandra remembered this later he would just have to deal with it. 

Though, she likely wouldn’t. She was awake, but incoherent. He mostly carried her over to the cliff. There was a cave there, not terribly deep but more than he could have hoped for. 

The next step was fire. He had time to gather firewood, but Cassandra didn’t. She’d freeze to death before he got back. Crates, he had crates from the wagon, he didn’t need to go anywhere. 

He shook his head to clear it and pulled some of the crates from the Dream. They were nailed shut, but the Saif was more than enough to lever the top off. The first crate was one of their ration crates, the food padded with dry, flammable straw. A second crate held several uniforms and blankets. 

He upended the crate and pried some of the looser slats off the side, tossing them in a pile with some of the straw. A Molotov cocktail lit it rather nicely. 

Cassandra, when he went to check on her, was cold and pale, but still breathing. She wouldn’t like it, but if she was going to survive she needed to be out of her wet and partially frozen clothes. 

The sodden wool gave his frozen fingers more trouble than he cared to admit, but thankfully she wore only a chain shirt underneath, not a full set. The padded cloth and leather underneath the wool was soaked through and already had frost forming on the edges. He pulled the Seeker closer to the fire and tossed a few more planks on it, then added several more as an afterthought. The less he needed to stand, the better off he would be. 

For survival, he told himself while he peeled off her wet clothes. He left her chemise on, more for his sake than for hers if he was being honest. 

She had more scars than he’d thought, but then, she was a warrior. It looked like she’d seen more than her fair share of injuries, from both physical and elemental sources. 

He wrapped her in a thick woolen blanket and pulled her closer to the fire, then laid her wet things down by the fire to dry. After a moment, he added his own clothes from the Dream to the pile. They were no longer wet, but it would look suspicious if they weren’t there. 

He sent most of the clothing he was wearing back to the dream and joined Cassandra under the blanket. Before too long she went from being deathly still to shivering violently. She would probably be alright, then. It had been a long time since he’d had to worry about this kind of problem, but if his memory served, the fact she could manage this was nearly a miracle.

If she didn’t make it, he didn’t know what he’d do. She held up more of the Inquisition than he did. Without her strength and steady faith, the Inquisition would never have gotten off the ground, and if those were taken, it would come crashing back down. 

He pulled a small teapot from the Dream and set it near the fire after he emptied a waterskin into it. If they could drink something warm they’d be all the better for it. There were cups in the crate, but he’d get them later. 

He took a vial of blood and joined her violent shivering a few minutes later. No one ever realized how cold they really were until they started to warm up again. There wasn’t much to do now but wait. 

They had a while, likely several hours, before the scouts would find them, but he couldn’t leave Cassandra to go look for help. If her heart rate and breathing didn’t remain steady, he needed to be here. She was doing worse than he would have liked as it was.

He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, hadn’t realized he had, but when he woke the bonfire had burned down to embers. There were a few boards in reach, and he tossed them on the fire before he stood and stretched.

Cassandra was unconscious still, warmer than she had been, but not warm enough, still pale, her breathing soft and quiet. He swore and crouched next to her. Her pulse was steady, but weak. 

He sat down to consider his options. Letting her die wasn’t one of them. He could go and try to find the camp, but she might freeze while he was gone. What he’d done so far hadn’t worked, or hadn’t worked enough, so that was out. 

He could give her blood. She might never forgive him for it, but she would be alive. She’d been the angriest about it in Redcliffe, or at least the one to show it the most, but this could be her only chance. 

She had been angry, he recalled, at its unclear origins. Perhaps it would help to know where it had come from? He could give some of his own blood. She thought him holy. Was blood magic different if it was performed by a prophet?

There were clean syringes in the Dream, and he pulled one out. He was no blood saint, but he’d taken enough blood that this had to do something, right?

It was only a pinprick, an infinitesimal amount of blood compared to what he’d lost in battle, but drawing it felt like a punch to the gut. It always hurt more to draw for bullets than to be cut by an enemy. This felt much the same. 

Speed was key here. It would be best to inject into her thigh, not her arm. The closer he could get it to her core, the better. Once that was done, all he had to do was wait. Within a quarter hour she had visibly improved, and by the time half an hour had passed he was certain she was going to be alright. Perhaps she didn’t need to know about the blood. There wasn’t much reason to bring it up. 

It was another half hour or so before Cassandra woke. Boiling the salted rations had yielded a kind of broth, and he handed her a cup of it. It would help her warm up if she drank it. “How are you feeling?”

“I’ve been better, though I am alive. As it stands, I thank you for saving my life.”

For a moment he thought she meant the blood. “I could hardly let you drown. That would have been the end of the Inquisition.”

“Do you truly think so?” 

“I do. It might have taken some time to sputter out, but it’s your strength that keeps it going. I may carry the Anchor, but you’re still the leader.”

She blinked. “I have never been the leader of the Inquisition. I only do what needs to be done. If not you, then Leliana, but I have never been the one in charge.”

“Could have fooled me. I can’t speak for Leliana, but I know you have more faith than I do, faith the Inquisition needs.”

“Do you not have faith?”

“Not like you do. I mean, I believe in the Inquisition, but you have faith in your religion and what it stands for, faith in a greater sense of purpose.”

“And you do not?”

“Not really, no.”

It took her a minute to find a reply for that. “Why do you fight? What motivates you?”

“I don’t know. I just do whatever seems best at the time. I… I want to correct what’s wrong. I know wrong when I see it, and I have to help.” He wasn’t sure how else to explain. He was a Hunter, and he would Hunt, though he wasn’t sure what he was meant to be Hunting anymore.

“There is more to life than fighting.”

“Perhaps once all this is over, I’ll go find something else to do. Set down my weapons and build a life.” The thought made him uneasy in a way he couldn’t explain. He couldn’t imagine himself doing anything too different from what he was doing now. 

They sat in silence for a few minutes. He tossed a few more planks on the fire when it got low, and it crackled warmly. It was still snowing heavily, though the wind had died down a bit. 

“Might I ask you a… strange question?” Cassandra was, for once, hesitant.

“Go ahead.”

“When you pulled me from the river, you…” she hesitated. “It sounds strange, but it seemed as though you were wearing white cloth, rather than leather.”

Well, fuck. As easy as it would be to say it was nothing, he couldn’t keep lying to these people. He sighed and sat back down. “I… suppose there’s no easy way to explain that.”

“You carry a spare change of clothes?”

“In a manner of speaking.” He held out his hand, palm facing up. For a moment, there was a calm, pale glow above his hand, and then the music box appeared. Cassandra stared. 

“It’s something of an ability of mine,” he explained. “I can… carry things, I suppose. Not physically, but they’re with me.”

“How long have you been able to do this?”

He winced. “For… a while, now. Everything else went over badly, I figured I should keep this to myself.”

She looked at him for a moment. She didn’t seem happy with him, but she wasn’t angry, either. “I…” She sighed. “I suppose I can understand. With suspicions of blood magic hanging about, I can hardly blame you for keeping this to yourself.”

That was quite the weight off his chest. “That’s a relief to hear, I’ll admit.”

“What all can you… carry?”

“Small things, usually. I can’t carry around buildings or anything. Mostly weapons and armor, though I’ve got a few little trinkets. I’d picked up a few crates from the wagons to try and make them lighter.” He knocked on the intact one. “Glad I did now.”

“So the white cloth…”

He stood up and pulled on the Executioner’s garb. “A bit more showy than I prefer, but it’s the warmest thing I’ve got.”

“This... certainly explains a few things. Sera said your armor was still in your room when she went back for your things, though we’d all just seen you in it.”

He’d forgotten about that, actually. His emotions must have shown on his face, because Cassandra laughed at him.

“What else do you have?”

“A few other sets of clothes. I’ve got copies of what the Hunters in Redcliffe were wearing, and some of the weapons they had. I had them before we went, though.” He flipped to the Choir set for a moment, then picked up his standard Hunter attire and put it back on. 

“Do you have anything that could explain how that woman used magic?”

“I… might, actually.” He tugged the Auger from the Dream. “This is what she was holding, or something like it at least. I’ve never been able to use it, though.”

She stared at it, confused and more than a little skeptical. “A slug?”

“A magic slug.”

The Augur started slowly crawling up his arm, the slime glistening faintly the way Isz did. He sent it back to the Dream. 

“So you have clothing and… magic slugs.”

“I don’t know. Slugs are so fucking weird I’d believe just about anything. I also have weapons. And blood, I should mention that. Not from Redcliffe,” he added quickly at the look she gave him, “I already had it.”

She sighed. “I suppose that explains a few of your miraculous recoveries. I appreciate you telling me, at least. These weapons you carry, are they like what the Hunters used to attack us?”

“Some of them, though I have a few I haven’t seen anyone use. Do you want a gun?”

“A gun? Like the one you carry?”

“Similar. I have more than I need.”

“Another time, perhaps. Tell me, do you intend to tell the others about this?”

“I… yes. I’ll tell them.” He settled back near the fire. “I reckon the scouts will find us soon. If you’re up for it, we could go look for them. The worst of the wind has died down.”

She looked outside. “Soon. If they don’t come in the next half hour or so, we’ll set out.”

They’d didn’t, so the two of them set out. They found the river easily enough and followed it upstream. They were on the wrong side of the river, but there were a few places where the river was thinner, where the ice was more solid. They picked one and crossed carefully. They’d just climbed out of a river, it wouldn’t do to fall back in.

The snow eased off considerably, then stopped. Night had fallen, but the waxing moon and the stars reflected off the freshly fallen snow, lighting up the mountainside. They stopped their slow trek every half hour or so to make a fire and warm up. An hour and a half later, the dull glow of torches was visible above the next ridge. 

The Hunter scrambled up the ridge, then helped Cassandra up. They walked into the camp together. Unlike the last time he’d done this, he was recognized immediately. A buzz of excitement went through the camp as they made their way to the center. Leliana was in the middle of a cluster of scouts. It took him a minute to recognize Sera next to her. 

She was wearing his coat, though it was too big for her, almost dragging the ground. She had it buttoned all the way, and also had his hat, though the matching scarf was around her neck, not her face. She almost looked like a child playing dress-up, though she’d hit him if he said that.

Djura loitered on Leliana’s other side, not looking terribly worried. He was the first to notice their approach. 

“See?” he said as they approached, “I told you they would be fine.”

Sera tore away from the scouts and sprinted at him, jumping on him at the last minute. They both fell to the ground. 

“This is awfully familiar,” said the Hunter, somewhat breathlessly. Sera was sitting on his chest. “I’m sensing a trend here.”

“You arse!” She glared down at him, teeth bared. “I friggin told you to quit that!”

“I could hardly let Cassandra drown.”

“Okay, yeah, but remember what I said about saying something before you ran off?!”

“I threw my hat, does that count?”

“That was to stop the scout from stopping you and you know it!”

That would have been brilliant, had he thought of it. He sighed. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry. Look, I’m okay.” He spread his arms in the snow. “Kind of chilly, but otherwise fine.”

Sera looked ready to tear her hair out. “I’m keeping this coat hostage. You can have it back when you’ve gone a week without any shite ideas.”

“Alright, fine. Can I get up now?”

She climbed off him. Cassandra helped him to his feet, trying not to laugh. Cullen stumbled out of a tent bleary-eyed and stared in both relief and disbelief. 

“Maker’s breath, you’re back.”

“In the flesh.” He grinned. “It’s a bit harder to get rid of me than that.”

“See, that’s what I told them.” Djura settled on a chair near the fire. “You’re sturdier than you look.”

Sera gave the older Hunter an exasperated look. 

“They’ve been at it all night,” Leliana explained. “Come on, the two of you look half frozen.”

She sat them near the fire and sent out a scout to bring back something warm to eat. Any conversation, she said, could wait until morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's kick things off, shall we?  
>  >:3


	35. I love slugs so much they’re so cute with their wiggly little eyes. Snails, too.

Morning, in the Hunter’s opinion, came far too early the next day. He was stiff from the day before, and the cold still hanging in his bones felt as though it would never leave. Still, he dragged himself off his cot and started out, only to run straight into Sera. 

“And where do you think you’re going?”

“To scout?”

“No. No! You almost died yesterday! You have the day off. Leliana’s orders. Go sit in the wagon.”

Leliana confirmed the order. “You and Cassandra both nearly died yesterday. We need you both nearby in case your little swim yesterday has any delayed effects.”

He settled for helping pack up the camp. Leliana gave him a look when she saw him lifting folded canvas and tent poles into a wagon, but she didn’t say anything. 

Cassandra, who was also confined to the wagon, didn’t look any happier than he did, though she did look somewhat sicker. She was wrapped in a thick blanket, sitting in the back corner of a wagon and glaring at anyone who looked at her pityingly.

They’d be allowed out and about as soon as they were cleared by the healers, but that felt so very far in the future. She raised an eyebrow when he jumped up. 

“You are going to have to tell them, sooner or later.”

“I know. Tonight, okay?”

She didn’t look terribly impressed, but she let the subject drop. Leliana jumped up soon after they started moving, Sera close behind her. 

It went surprisingly well. He nodded off a few times, only woken by the especially rough jolts, and in one place they had to cross another river. Djura had the idea to get the ice mages to fortify the ice before they crossed and the Hunter could’ve slapped himself for not thinking of that. Cullen hadn’t been terribly happy about using magic to solve the problem, especially for how much they were already relying on it, but he couldn’t think of a better solution.

Cassandra gave him a pointed look once camp was set up for the night, then went to go settle the soldiers. No putting this off any longer, then. Sera looked between the two of them. “Alright, what? What’s going on?”

The Hunter sighed. “Oh, just more blood magic. Doesn’t actually use blood this time, but it seems like all my magic is blood magic and I’m trying not to startle people.”

“You’ve found something else?” Leliana seemed more curious than anything else. 

“Found is… one way to put it.” He held up his hand and called the music box. It was roughly palm sized and made for a good demonstration. 

“You have a magic box?” Sera squinted at it. “You’ve had that one for a while. Didn’t know it was magic, though.”

“No, not the box. Well, I don’t think the box is magic, at least.” He pushed it back to the Dream and called up the monocular. 

“You can conjure things? So that’s where that came from.” Leliana paused. “How long have you been able to do this?”

“A while, now. With how everything else went over, I…”

“You weren’t sure if you should reveal it. I suppose I can understand.” Despite her words, she didn’t look terribly happy. 

Sera stared at the monocular. “Does that have a limit?”

“Small things, usually. I can pick them up and carry them with me, but I can’t just make things.”

“Huh.” She sat back, thinking. “What all have you got in there?”

He snapped on the capeless Hunter coat and top hat, then leaned back. “Weapons and armor, with a few other bits and pieces.”

They all stared. 

“This,” Leliana said after a moment, “certainly explains a few things.”

“I’ve got a couple interesting things. I have armor matching those we met at Redcliffe, and weapons like theirs, but I had them before we went there.”

“I don’t suppose you have any information on where you might have come from in there?”

“I’m afraid not. A few odd things, but nothing particularly telling. No history books or anything.”

“What would you call odd?” Sera sat up. “There are a lot of things that are odd that you haven’t been bothered with.”

He gestured for her to hold out her hand,then dropped the Auger into it when she did so. She shrieked and dropped it, then stared down at it, a look of utter confusion on her face. Leliana leaned over to look at it. 

“...I believe the woman we encountered in Redcliffe had something similar.”

“A sparkly slug?” Sera picked up the slug, then looked up at the spymaster. “Are you kidding me? I’ve seen these in gardens, I’m pretty sure they aren’t magic.”

“I’m pretty sure she used something similar for her magic.” The Hunter leaned back. “I’ve never been able to use it, though.”

The Auger slowly made its way around her hand, and she tilted it to accommodate. “A magic slug? Are you sure?”

“It looks magic, doesn’t it?” If they were watched carefully, the small lights in the slime seemed to move on their own. 

“At this point, I’m willing to accept almost anything. Almost.” Leliana scrutinized the slug as it started slowly making its way up Sera’s arm. 

“I mean, slugs are pretty weird.” The Hunter pulled out the Call Beyond. “Look at it. What even is this? It’s weird.”

It was a pale blue, dark flecks glimmering, the slime trail shimmering. It was faintly luminescent, though the glow could hardly be seen in the firelight. It looked around as though it was confused. 

“Eurgh, it’s cold.” Sera peeled the Auger off her arm, then held it out into the light. “Behold the magic slug, I guess.”

She turned her had over and squeezed ever so slightly, and the Hunter had to duck to avoid being smacked in the face with the tentacles that appeared. 

Sera shrieked and dropped the slug, then pulled her legs up onto the chair away from it. 

The Hunter picked up the fallen Auger. “That settles that, I suppose.”

“What the friggin hell was that?! Friggin magic shite- ugh!” She was white as a sheet and doing her best not to panic, though unsuccessfully. 

Solas came stumbling towards them a few moments later, looking somewhat disoriented. Could he feel the magic? “What happened?”

“We’ve discovered how the Lady in White did some of her magic.” The Hunter held up the slug.

Solas climbed up into the wagon to get a closer look. “With that? It’s a...” he trailed off, staring intently at the Auger. His confusion turned to concern, then back to confusion as he stared. 

The Auger stared back, small eye stalks waving. The Hunter looked up from the slug, to Sera. “Are you alright?”

She was doing her best to wipe the slime off her arm with a shaking hand. “I’m- I’m not hurt just- just- augh!”

Solas looked up from the slug, surprise on his face. “You were the one to use it?”

“I was just holding it! It’s a slug! Weird, but not- not dangerous!”

“Where did it come from?”

The Hunter re-explained his ability. It wasn’t the most complicated thing, though it was odd. 

“So you’ve had this the whole time?”

“I didn’t know it was magic. I’ve never been able to make it do anything but sit there.”

“Do you have anything else that may behave similarly?”

He held up the other slug. He knew the situation was serious, but the dry look Solas gave him almost made him laugh. 

To be fair, Leliana also had some difficulty keeping a straight face “Anything besides... another slug?”

He had a few things, actually. An empty phantasm shell (“Slugs don’t have shells.” “What’s this, then?”), an ornate silver bell, a pair of gloves, a darkbeast’s hand, an upturned skull, and an eye full of slugs. 

“Is… is than an eye?”

“Eye think so.”

Sera actually stopped panicking for a moment to stare at him. He grinned. Leliana was somewhere between disgusted and fascinated with the eye, and Solas was examining the gloves, holding them carefully, as though they were something sacred. 

“I see you’ve found a few things.” Djura ducked into the tent. “Or re-found, as it were.”

“Did you know about this?” Leliana looked up from the eye. 

“I suspected. I used to be able to do the same, though I lost the ability some time ago.”

“It’s a common ability, then?”

“Including the two of us, I’ve known of three who could do it. So no, not a common talent.”

“Who might this third be?”

“An older woman. I haven’t seen her in some time, though I believe she also lost the ability.” He thought for a moment. “She may no longer be among the living. It’s a dangerous job, Hunting.”

“And what do you know of… these?” Leliana gingerly lifted the Auger from where it was crawling up the Hunter’s sleeve. 

Djura stared at it in confusion. “You usually only see those among the Choir. Can you use it?” The question was directed at the Hunter. 

“I’ve never gotten it to do anything, no.”

“Not everyone can. I suspect most of this is useless to you.”

He squinted at the table, then picked up the skull. “I might be able to use this one, but the rest I just have.”

“Better you than the Choir. Most of these can be rather painful.”

“Was he a member of the Choir, then?” Leliana looked between the two Hunters. 

Djura laughed. “No, certainly not. Those in the Choir were raised there. Both of us were outsiders.”

“Did you have no affiliation in the Hunters at all, then?”

“I did once, though those with me either deserted or were killed. I believe Sukest joined Eileen in her Hunt.”

Leliana blinked. “Eileen?”

“The third I’ve known with the, uh, power of conjuration. It’s an obscure guild, theirs. They usually only have a few members at a time.”

“And what might that guild be?”

“I know only what the common Hunters know about them, which I’m afraid isn’t much. They’re a secretive bunch. Their Hunt focuses on other Hunters.”

“An organization that kills their own?” Solas looked up from the gloves. 

“Every so often, a Hunter will be declared too dangerous. I’m not certain of the exact requirements, but the Hunters of Hunters dispose of those who meet them. Few have ever seen them in action and lived, though the threat of their presence is enough to keep most Hunters in line.”

“Can they be distinguished from other Hunters, or do they hide within the ranks?”

“They’re the ones dressed as crows. An old tradition of theirs, though I don’t know much about it. And before you ask, no, I haven’t heard of any of them ever using the Choir’s tools.”

Leliana’s eyes widened, but she didn’t say anything. Concern over the Crow they’d found traces of in Redcliffe, perhaps?

“Can you tell me about these?” Solas held up the gloves. 

Djura squinted down at them. “Those… aren’t from the Choir. I’m not sure what those are, actually. Well, gloves, of course, but I don’t know what they signify.” 

“Pain, slaughter, kill them all, not a single Vileblood to be spared. Grind, crush the knights, bind the widows! The bloodline ends here!” Cole appeared behind the older Hunter, wringing his hands. He looked to be in almost physical pain, and looked at the gloves like they might attack him. 

Djura set a hand on his shoulder. “Cole. Are you alright?”

“They’re very angry gloves.”

“Are they harmful?”

“Only if someone wants them to be.”

Djura sighed. “I expect that’s true of a lot of things.”

Cole moved around Solas to look at the other things on the table. He picked up the bell and turned it over in his hands. “This one’s nice. It’s soothing.”

The Hunter studied him. He wasn’t quite human, didn’t quite have the minor details, the casual mannerisms, but he was trying. 

The spirit looked down at the Call Beyond. It looked back up at him, eyes waving. 

“Hello there,” whispered the spirit, crouching down so it was eye level. “Who are you?”

The slug didn’t respond, at least not in a way the Hunter could hear. 

“It’s nice to meet you.” He held his hand down and the slug crawled on. 

“I see you’ve made a friend.” Djura leaned back on the tent pole. 

“She’s very old, but she’s very nice.”

An hour later both Vivienne and Dorian had come to see this odd magic, the Iron Bull joining them after another half hour. 

“I still don’t see how a slug can let someone use magic.” Dorian was pacing, gesturing as he ranted. 

“Maybe the slug is a mage.” The Hunter had moved from the chair to the floor to lay down. 

“She doesn’t have the power, she just asks for it.” Cole still held the Call, sitting cross legged on a chair. Djura was asleep on the bench nearby. 

Vivienne eyed the spirit with disdain. “And who might it be asking?”

“She calls the stars to come down around her, and they listen. They come through her, for the joy of being here.”

Sera had gone a while ago, saying that ‘all this magic shite was gibberish’. The Hunter wished he’d followed. 

“So we have a slug that talks to stars.” None of the chairs were big enough for the Iron Bull, so he sat on a crate. “At this point I should just start expecting weird shit. Two slugs, an eye, a skull, a bell, a hand, and a pair of gloves.”

“And Sera’s the only one who’s used any of it.” Solas set the bell down and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You said you might be able to use the skull. How?”

He picked it up and brushed his fingers over the smooth bone. There were small, delicate runes etched on the inside, nearly impossible to see and all but invisible. He felt a chill run down his spine when he brushed over them, then a feeling as though he’d had a cup of water poured on his head, and suddenly he was a lot smaller. 

The Iron Bull jerked to his feet. “Where’d he go?”

Dorian stopped his pacing. Cole looked down at the Hunter’s new form. “You’re smaller now.”

Vivienne glanced at the spirit. “There’s nothing there.”

Solas stared at the Hunter, eyes wide. The Iron Bull looked from the Mage to the ground. “Is there something there?”

“‘S a Messenger.” Djura sat up, wiping at his eyes. “Nothin’ to piss yourself over.”

Dorian startled backwards when the Hunter slid back into his normal form. “What in Andraste’s name?!”

“A Messenger.” Djura stood and stretched, popping his back. “He turned into a Messenger. Harmless little thing, but it’s good for sneaking places. Not everyone can see them, and they’re small enough that those who can might miss them. Could you see him?” he asked Solas, who looked like he’d seen a ghost. 

“I- Yes.”

“They can be a little unnerving when you first see them, but they’re friendly little buggers.” He yawned. “When they aren’t Hunters, I mean.”

“I think he still looked friendly.” Cole still had the Call, though he didn’t seem to notice that it was making its way up his sleeve. 

Djura stepped up to the table and picked up the hand. “Is this…?” Then he grinned. “I see Izzy’s toys are still floating around.”

“A hand? As a toy?” Dorian looked at him as though he’d gone mad. 

“A beast’s hand. A darkbeast, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Another magic trick, then?”

“If it’s authentic.” He studied it closely, then gripped it tightly and let out what could only be described as a roar, loud and feral. It rattled the tent supports, toppled the stack of boxes the Iron Bull was sitting on, and would have knocked Vivienne to the ground if she were standing any closer. The old Hunter laughed. “Authentic it is.”

A scout burst through the tent flap, followed closely by Cullen as the Iron Bull picked himself up off the ground. “Maker’s Breath, what was that?!”

Djura held up the severed hand and grinned. “Just a tad bit of experimenting, nothing to be worried about.”

Sera ducked around the Commander. “What’s goin’ on? Did someone sneak a bear in here or somethin’?”

“Can bears even make that sound?” He’d heard them groan and growl, but he didn’t know of anything that roared like that except for darkbeasts. His ears had rung for hours after he’d killed Paarl.

Djura ignored him. “One of Izzy’s toys. Useful if you’re buried in rubble or surrounded in a fight. It pushes things back.”

“Scares half the camp is what it does.” Cullen rubbed his temples. “Just… don’t do it again.”

He tossed the hand on the table, still grinning. “Sure, sure.”

Cullen looked like he wanted to say something, but turned and left instead.

“He said I couldn’t do it, but nothing about anyone else. Who else wants to try?”

The Hunter snorted. “Let’s not terrorize the Commander.”

The Iron Bull focused his eye on the older Hunter. “So what’s your deal?”

“I’m sorry?”

“You’ve said Sukest here was a Hunter of Hunters. What are you?”

“Retired.”

He rolled his eye. “Alright, what were you, then?”

Djura sighed. “I was a member of the Powder Kegs. A faction of Hunters.” 

“Powder?”

“As in ‘gunpowder’. ‘If it ain’t got kick, it just ain’t worth it’. It’s an old Keg motto. Most of our weapons are big and explosive. The hammer you have is one of our designs, though it seems a bit small for you.”

“You’re retired, but you still consider yourself one of them?”

“All the other Powder Kegs are dead. If I don’t carry the name, who else will?”

The Iron Bull studied him a moment longer. “I’m sorry for your loss, then.”

“I’ve had years to mourn and move on. Never forget the past, but don’t let it tie you down and all that.”

“How much do you know about this gun powder?”

“A fair amount. I’ve yet to see any outside the Hunters, do you not have them? Closest I’ve seen are crossbows. That dwarf has a rather nice one.”

“No, we don’t. The Qun has Gaatlok, which acts similar. I’m beginning to wonder how similar it might be.”

“The Qun...? Ah, you tall horned people. You’re the first I’ve seen, actually. I’d heard of you, but doubted whether or not the rumor mongers were telling the truth. I can see now that they are, of course.”

“You won’t see a lot of us down in Fereldan. We aren’t exactly friends with the locals.”

“Understandable. But, you asked about gunpowder. I know how to make it, if that’s what you’re asking. Most of our weapons use it, so making it’s an essential skill to have.”

“Can most of the Hunters make it?”

“I wouldn’t guess so. These days I believe the Charnal Lane produces most of their gunpowder.”

“Charnal Lane?” Dorian raised an eyebrow. “I’ve heard of a charnal house, but a lane?”

“The Hunters are based in the city of Yharnam. They long ran out of room in the first house, so another was built, and then another, and so on. Hemwick Charnel Lane produces a good portion of the city’s ash and powder.”

“Ash?”

“The crematoriums are there as well. Not all of the dead are buried.”

“Yes, but why is the ash significant?”

“Bone marrow ash is used in a pinch to give a gun a bit of extra kick.”

“Bone marrow?! As in human bone marrow?!”

“I’ve always assumed so. I no longer use it, though some swear by it. Those with weaker blood need it for a decent shot.”

“Weaker blood?” Vivienne’s eyes were sharp, expression steeled. “What might you mean by that?”

“Hunters don’t often use normal bullets. In the midst of a Hunt, you might as well just throw rocks. Quicksilver bullets are a much better alternative, made of blood and mercury. The better your blood is, the more effective your bullets will be.”

Most of the eyes in the room went to the Hunter. He shrugged. “In hindsight, I probably should have mentioned that.”

The Iron Bull snorted. “So what next, you’ve got a cannon somewhere?”

He tugged the cannon out of the dream and let it fall to the floor. 

After a moment of silence, Djura burst out laughing. He had to lean on the tent pole to avoid falling to the floor. “Well,” he wheezed after a moment, “you did ask.”

The Qunari crouched down to examine it. “I did ask. Though, most cannons are five times this size.”

“That one’s still pretty big.” The Hunter sat back on the floor and leaned back on one of the toppled crates. “I can’t lift the thing.”

“Lift it? Why would you lift it?”

“It’s portable.”

He hefted it up off the floor and straightened. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

Djura wiped the last few tears from his eyes. “I wouldn’t fire that in here, the ball explodes on contact. I didn’t know they still made those unwieldy things.”

He’d found it in a rotten, overgrown windmill, so they might not be in production anymore. “It’s a bit heavy for me.”

The Iron Bull laughed. “I’ll say. I can hardly lift the damn thing myself.”

“It’s yours if you want it.”

“I just might take you up on that. After we get where we’re going, that is.” He let it fall to the floor, where it landed with a solid thud. 

“Fair enough. I wouldn’t want to carry it either.” It would be much easier to keep it in the Dream, so he pulled it back in. 

“I’m not certain I’ll get used to that.” Dorian stared at where the cannon had been a moment ago. “Usually when things vanish they’ve turned invisible or been incinerated. How does your… carrying, work? Do you know?”

“Not really, no, but nothing’s new there.”

“How about you?” The Mage turned to Djura. “Do you know how it works?”

“Only slightly. Think of it more like teleportation than conjuration. The things don’t vanish, they only move.”

“Move to where?”

“...hmm. I'm not sure, actually.”

“Then how do you know you’re moving things instead of conjuring them?”

“It’s not like a shirt is disintegrated and then another is conjured later, it’s the same shirt. So it goes somewhere, and then it comes back.”

Another half-hour of debate made no progress. The next time Sera poked her head into the tent, he slid out after her. 

“How’s your chat going?”

“It’s going nowhere. Nobody has any answers, just a whole lot of questions.”

“Sounds like business as usual, then.”

He couldn’t help but agree, and slipped out as soon as he was sure the others wouldn’t miss him. It was already well into the night, and a simple thing to find some corner near a fire to curl up in and sleep for a while. This close to their destination, and the climb it would entail, he’d need all the rest he could get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’ll be at Skyhold next chapter, I swear. 
> 
> I love slugs so fucking much


	36. Hi this was almost not actually a chapter

Skyhold, when they reached it, was majestic. The steep climb did a number on some of the wagons, but they managed not to lose any while everyone filed through the huge main gate. 

The weathered stone walls were crumbling in some places, but for the most part still stood strong. The courtyard was surprisingly warm, almost inviting, promising safety from the outside winds.. It was divided in two, a lower part with the gate, and an upper part, which had several buildings and a set of stairs up to the main keep. Both sides held a carpet of grass and what could have been well-kept shrubbery, now long overgrown. 

The Hunter spent the better part of the morning helping the tide of people and carts through the gate. There were several buildings inside the walls that weren’t a part of the main castle, most of them in good repair. They had been temporarily designated as storage, a mess hall, and the one that had a forge seemed to have always been the armory. Several tents were set up as a temporary infirmary until they could make sure the buildings were safe enough to trust with their people.

Cullen set up a command point set up near the stairs between the levels, and was barking orders from his table of papers. The Hunter left him to his work and settled near the gate, directing people inside and helping the occasional overburdened traveler.

The main hall, when he reached it in the early afternoon, was overgrown, several of the wooden supports rotted through. The floor was covered in growth and wooden debris, the tapestries long faded, but it felt grand and ancient despite, or perhaps because of, its ruinous state. It was always awe inspiring to see how even the strongest keeps would one day be taken by the trees.

He started clearing the floor, moving the beams and larger pieces of wood to the side, and before long a dozen or so soldiers appeared to help. He was glad one of the things he’d asked the Doll for had been strength, though perhaps he hadn’t realized how much he’d asked for, given the amazed looks he got while dragging one of the larger beams against the wall. 

The stained glass window at the end, though faded and missing panes in some places. Though time rendered the ancient picture meaningless, was still magnificent. The throne in front of it, what he first thought to be stone but was actually some kind of ancient wood, had a somewhat intimidating outline against the light. 

Enough of the debris was cleared by the evening that they could have a good number of people sleep in here. The courtyard was sheltered enough that they could camp there if they needed too without it taking a toll on the people, but he would rather have everyone inside if he could.

He spent the evening helping people find places to settle, be it in the hall or in one of the outer buildings. Evening turned to night, then sunrise as time went on. He kept working into the next morning. The rising sun hardly bothered him.

The stables were in surprisingly good condition. The Warden Blackwall led a team of workers to strengthen the supports on the second floor, with the Hunter hauling materials to the stables and other construction projects.

By the end of the day, most of the horses were under some sort of roof, while the pack animals at least had a pen to contain them.

His rune hummed by nightfall, and he spent his second sleepless night in the keep, exploring the ancient rooms near the great hall, or walking the walls when he’d been indoors too long. 

He’d been able to brush off the concerned glances and casual remarks on the bags under his eyes for the first two days, but by the third people were getting suspicious. 

Not the workers, but the people whose names he actually knew. He thought he might get away with another night before he had to sleep, but around mid-day his plans were foiled. 

That Spirit, no matter how compassionate he was, could be, at times, a bit of a sellout. 

He knew the jig was up when Cole and Sera came through the door to the grand hall. If she was within ten feet of him and not trying to get away, then it must be serious. The way she was glaring at him cleared up any doubts he may have had about her reasoning. Cole was gone by the time she reached him, off to who-knows-where. Probably the infirmary, if where he’d been over the last few days was any indication. 

“You!” Sera slid to a stop a scant few inches away from slamming into him. 

“Me. What’s going on?” Claim ignorance, just in case this was about something else. 

“When did you last sleep?! Someone said it’s been a while, and you look awful!”

Damn. At least she didn’t remember it was Cole who told her. “It hasn’t been too long, I’ve just been helping people settle.”

She looked around. “It does look much better in here. Like a building, instead of a dump. But you! What do you call ‘not too long’?”

The look on his face said it all. She sighed. 

“I’ll start, stop me when I get there. A day? ...two?” Her anger gave way to concern. “Have you slept since we got here?”

“...I’ve been busy?”

“Busy? Busy?! No! Come on. You’re taking a nap. Now.” 

The little elf dragged him through one of the side doors, then down a few short halls. Their end destination was a garden, overgrown but beautiful. 

A few people he recognized from the infirmary or as the Alchemist’s assistance were quietly trimming the plants back into something that at least pretended to be tamed. Seemed almost a shame to see it go, but they could use the space. The healers were dangerously low on herbs.

“Look, this is nice. There’s rooms off here, somewhere there’s gotta be a good nap spot.”

The nap spot turned out to be a gazebo, half-covered by a curtain of flowering vines, the delicate pastel flowers flourishing despite the perpetual chill. 

He leaned back back on a part of the vine that managed to attach itself to the inner section of the gazebo. It was likely the only stable support keeping the whole thing from collapsing. 

He didn’t remember falling asleep, but it wasn’t until the next day, nearly noon, that he woke to the quiet snipping of the gardeners and a soft, hushed voice nearby. It took him a moment to clear his head and listen. The voice was Orlesian, judging by the language, but not one he recognized. He quietly shook himself free of the plants that surrounded him. 

A slim Orlesian woman knelt near the gazebo, her dress stained by the grass. How long had she been there? He couldn’t speak the language she was using, but her tone, closed eyes, and submissive posture made it clear she was praying. 

She quickly straightened when she heard him move and looked up at him with wide eyes. She was crying, he realized. 

“Oh! I’m terribly sorry to disturb you.” The woman quickly made to get up. 

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, I- I only wanted to thank you.” At his look of confusion, she continued. “While we were traveling, my son was on one of the carts that nearly fell through the ice. Had you not pulled him to the shore, he would not be alive today.”

He had nearly forgotten about the boy. “You don’t need to thank me, it’s alright. I’m just doing what I can.”

“I… wasn’t sure when I first arrived at Haven, but one such as yourself can only be sent by the Maker.” She climbed carefully to her feet and gave a deep curtsy before she made her way out of the gardens. 

She had been praying to him, he realized, either as an emissary to her Maker or to him directly. He didn’t know enough about the Chantry to guess which, but wasn’t entirely comfortable with either. Sure, churches could wear pretty faces, could give service to those without, but those services came from the actions of the people, not some higher power. He never wanted to be one of those pandering clerics, one of those idols for the masses to gather in front of. 

“You don’t have to be.”

The Hunter spun to face the voice. 

Cole was the only one capable of getting this close without alerting him. “You don’t have to stop being good. You can… You won’t change just because people look up to you.”

He would never get used to the way the Spirit could hear his thoughts. He sat back down on the plants in the gazebo, and kept his voice quiet as he spoke. “I don’t mind being a role model. I mind being some kind of prophet to a religion I don’t believe in.”

Cole crouched next to him. “So much of you is hesitation. You aren’t just a face looking out over a podium. You are a light in the dark, a song in the quiet, a lamp to guide the way. Some see their Maker in your shadow, but others see only you. You are the Good Hunter, no matter what the others say.”

The Good Hunter remained unconvinced, but he didn’t need to say anything for the Spirit to understand. 

The Spirit stood. “Come with me. There’s something you should see.”

Might as well. He stood and stretched, then followed the Spirit back into the keep. They ended up back in the courtyard, where the upper level overlooked the lower. 

“All these people are here because of you. They wouldn’t be here without you. Not all think you’re a prophet, but all of them know that they owe you their lives.”

“Just as I owe them for the deaths of Haven. They only came for me — the village was just in the way.”

The Spirit considered him for a moment, unsure. “But you didn’t know. You did everything you could. You couldn’t save everyone, but you saved so many. More than anyone expected.”

“It didn’t have to happen at all. If I wasn’t a damn coward I would go to the Hunters and figure out what the fuck is going on.”

“They know even less than you, but they don’t know different things.” The Spirit paused. “My words won’t help you. Someone in there,” he said, pointing to the stables, “needs a few words, and so do you. You could give them to each other.”

He might as well. “Alright, then. Thank you, Cole.”

The stables were under the last few of their repairs. A small team of workers were finishing up, the Warden Blackwall leading them for the final details. The man had some skill with woodwork, apparently. 

“Herald. What can I do for you?”

They hadn’t spoken much, really. He seemed like a good man, someone dependable. Perhaps this was who Cole meant? “Just came by to see how things were.”

“Repairs are going well. At this rate, we’ll be done before the week is through. It’ll be good to get a few more people under a roof.”

“It would. The walls help, but it’s hardly camping weather.”

The Warden nodded his agreement. “It’ll be good for morale as well. It’s easier to sleep with a roof over your head, something sturdier than a tent.”

“That it is. The tents are nice, but they don’t do much with weather like this. That, and if someone trips on it the whole thing can come down on you.”

“Not the most pleasant thing to wake up to, being smothered in canvas. With any luck, we can put an end to that.”

“That we can.” They walked the walls during a lull in the construction. “What do you think of Skyhold so far? Aside from it being shelter from the weather, that is?”

“It’s a grand fortress, perfect for the Inquisition. The walls are defensible and it is, for the most part, in good repair. That, and no one bothers to claim these mountains, except the hill folk.”

He hadn’t even thought of that. “It’s nice to know some noble isn’t going to climb up to evict us.”

“Ha! Most nobles I’ve met couldn’t make the climb. It’s a resilient bunch you’ve got here, good people.”

“What do you think of them? The people here, I mean.”

“You have an army here and the people you need to lead it. Good people, with the right kinds of ideas. Sure, there might be the occasional off-color recruit, but most are dedicated. They’d do whatever you asked.” The man paused. “If you don’t mind me asking, what are your plans?”

He sighed. “That’s a good question. My goal was to seal the Breach. That’s done, or done enough. Then it was to get as many people as I could out of Haven, to somewhere they wouldn’t die of the cold. That’s… mostly succeeded, I suppose. Now? Now it’s Corypheus. Though, I’m not sure the entire Inquisition should trail after my little quest for revenge.”

“I’d hardly call that little, but it’s good that you aren’t rallying the crowd for blood. Not like- well. That you aren’t going straight for revenge and dragging everyone with you.”

The Hunter laughed. “I suppose that’s fair. No, if I decide to go after him myself I’ll leave Inquisition out of it. This is a fortress, but I’d rather not test the walls unless we have to.”

“What is the Inquisition doing now? Aside from keeping the people here alive.”

“I’m not entirely certain. Likely searching for more on the Hunters, and on those crystal Templars. They’ve allied under Corypheus, but that’s all we know. Well, that’s all I know, at least. It’s hard to tell what Leliana knows.”

“Sharp, that one. She probably has eyes on us now.” The Warden glanced around the room. 

“It wouldn’t surprise me.”

There was a pause. “What would you have the Inquisition do, if it was only up to you?” 

“Just me? Well, I imagine the whole thing would collapse in a matter of days. If I were to pick a direction anyways, well.” He thought for a minute. “I’m not certain, actually. Before or after I figure out how the world works?”

“I keep forgetting, you don’t actually have your memory.”

Well. Same effect, anyways. “For the time being, I’m just glad I’m not actually in charge.”

The Warden laughed. “Fair enough.”

After he said goodbye, the Hunter started back for the main keep. It had been nice talking with the man, but he wasn’t quite sure what Cole had wanted him to hear. 

~~~~~~~

It wasn’t unusual to hear coughing in Skyhold, what with the trip through the mountains a couple weeks ago, but it was unusual to find the Herald doubled over and wheezing after a particularly bad fit. 

Hissrad kept his distance even before they’d arrived at Haven. Things hadn’t changed since then. He’d kept to himself and observed. 

The elf moved like a predator, like a wolf patrolling his territory, and while Hissrad himself was far from prey, he knew what happened to the last of his brothers who underestimated one of these Hunters. He’d never seen fighters like these before, their movements swift and powerful. At times they seemed almost extravagant, to the point where some of their motions seemed impractical, but that didn’t seem to bother them.

At the moment, however, he seemed far from intimidating. He was braced on the wall while he tried to catch his breath, but the coughing would start again before too long. Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen much of the elusive Herald of Andraste since the first week in the fortress. Something like this would explain why. 

It seemed foolish for someone so important to hide something like this. He must have some reason for it, though Hissrad didn’t know it. He hadn’t thought the Herald the type to do something like this purely for the sake of appearances.

Now this was just sad. He’d slid down the wall to take a seat on the floor, his breathing strained and ragged. It was about time the Qunari made himself known. 

“You alright there, boss?”

Sukest jerked his head up. He hadn’t even heard him approach. Must be really out of it, then. Pale as always, but flushed with fever. The elf opened his mouth to reply, but was wracked with another bout of coughing. 

“Alright, don’t hurt yourself.” He knelt down next to the Herald. 

The elf squinted at him, almost suspiciously, but said nothing. 

“Usually when people are sick they go to the infirmary.”

“Usually,” rasped the elf, “there aren’t six dozen people in line already. I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, like hell you will. Come on.” Hissrad held out a hand. 

“I’m alright.” He made no move to get up. 

“Suit yourself.” Without giving him time to react, Hissrad slid an arm around his back and another around his legs, then stood. 

The elf blanched at the sudden change of altitude and clutched tightly to Hissrad’s harness. “What are you-“ he was interrupted by another bout of coughing. 

“Taking you to the infirmary.” The Qunari started walking. 

“Put- put me down.” 

“Nope.” Any other time, he might have, but he could feel the elf’s trembling. He would fall if Hissrad put him down now. 

They were pretty deep in the castle, and it took a few minutes to reach areas where people actually gathered. Sukest shrank in on himself as they walked through the halls, trying not to stand out too much. The Qunari stuck to what they had discovered of the servant’s passages. It would be demoralizing for the people to see him like this. 

They made it halfway across the courtyard before the Herald’s smaller elf friend, Sera, shot across the courtyard and slid to a stop in front of him. 

“What do you think you’re doing?!”

“Taking your friend here to the infirmary. Seems he’s caught something.”

“I’m alright, I just-“ Yet another bout of coughing cut him off, and Sera’s anger turned to concern. 

“Oh, you friggin idiot, you. Come on, then.”

Their healers were more than happy to help and far more than a little concerned — Sukest apparently spent a good amount of his free time doing everything he could to help them. They’d warned him that he could get sick, but he hadn’t listened. 

“Fluid in the lungs,” one of the healers said. “Not the first, though this is one of the worse cases we have right now.”

None of them knew where he had been sleeping and their attempts to find out from the elf himself were fruitless, so they put him in a room near the gardens. It was fairly common knowledge that he liked those. 

For now, they would treat him the best they could with the supplies they had, depleted as their stores were. Josephine was doing everything she could, and they’d had a few small shipments, but it would be at least another week before they had a regular supply route up. The mountain roads were in disrepair, and it wouldn’t be an easy task clearing them. 

It didn’t help that the Herald himself was going everything he could to remain active. Several times, Hissrad saw him being ‘escorted’ back to his quarters. The Qunari offered his assistance every so often, when the elf was being particularly difficult, but rarely did he need to be carried back to his room. 

Leliana, after launching a minor investigation, discovered that until now the elf had just been sleeping in the main hall or in the gardens. The ambassador nearly had a fit when she found out. 

His little elven friend said he hadn’t been sleeping much, and Hissrad hadn’t seen him much in the tavern, which meant he’d probably been skipping meals. When confronted he gave a few mumbled excuses about how they were low on supplies. 

The Commander looked ready to break something, but the elf looked miserable enough at the moment that it was difficult to stay mad at him. He meant well, though his methods were, to say the least, lacking.

At least in this condition he wouldn’t be sneaking around — the Herald was one of the few capable of sneaking up on Hissrad. He’d seen the elf startle Red a few times, so he knew it wasn’t just him, but still, he needed to work on being observant. If all the Hunters were like this, he’d need to learn how to detect them. 

He’d seen that other Hunter, Djura, a few times. He wasn’t nearly as quiet as the Herald, but it was clear he wasn’t trying to be. The man spent most of his time either in the forge or heckling the Commander. Today, however, it was the Qunari the Hunter was looking for. 

“The Iron Bull, isn’t it?”

“It is. Need something?”

“We’ve finally reached a bit of a lull in the forge. I was wondering if you wanted a hammer made for someone closer to your size.”

The hammer he’d gotten during the fall of Haven was pretty great, he had to admit. “It would be nice to have something closer to a maul than a mace.”

Djura grinned. “Excellent. Any preferences?”

The man knew his weapons. A few hours later they were in the undercroft, a table of papers between the two of them. Aesthetic, Djura had told him, was nearly as important as function. An intimidated opponent need not always be fought to be defeated.

Some of these designs looked purely aesthetic, but the Hunter assured him they could take the strain of battle with ease. 

“Now, in most models, the hammer is primed with a switch on the back of the head, but with a haft this long that just isn’t practical. A chain and pulls could solve that, but it would be fragile on the outside.”

“For a weapon like this, reaching up to the head seems like a small price to pay.”

“It may sound like a minor inconvenience, but in a fight… well, I needn’t lecture you. You’ve seen more than your fair share of combat. A slight delay is the only opening an opponent needs.”

“If they get too close I can hit them with the hilt. Besides, with reach like this I can find the time to hit a switch.”

“If you’re fighting humans, perhaps. A human opponent is slow and often predictable. The Templars hit with strength, but they’re slow. A Hunter, on the other hand, prioritizes speed over strength. They can close that gap in a quarter of the time.”

“That would be why all your armor is leather, then?”

Djura nodded. “Rarely is it made of metal — it doesn’t hold up against bullets and it slows your movement.”

“Yet the spymaster reports Hunters in metal armor at Redcliffe. I wasn’t there myself, so I can’t verify that, but they carried your… you call them firearms, Sukest calls them guns.”

“Hmm. They’re the same thing, just a different name. But Hunters in metal armor? Do you know what it looked like?”

“Red has sketches somewhere, but it’s been a while since I’ve seen them.”

“Odd. Metal decorations, sure, but heavy…? Hah, perhaps Corypheus has been raising our dead. A Hunter in plate is a Hunter wearing his own casket. Ah, but that’s not why we’re here.” He leaned back over the table. “A chain could be fed through to a second switch in the handle, but with this length it may weaken the weapon structurally.”

“Depends on what we make it out of.”

“Most Hunter weapons are black iron. Mine’s steel, to withstand the force of firing it, and at least the head of this should be steel, but with you I don’t believe weight will be a problem.”

“What about Sukest’s? It’s metal, but it’s got red and pink on it.”

The Hunter thought for a moment. “In lines or in general? As though stones were set into it, or as though it were forged?”

That was a good question. “I’m not sure. Haven’t gotten a close look at the thing in a while. Any guesses?”

“I would guess it’s bloodstone, worked into the blade to strengthen it. Saifs haven’t been popular since before my time, rare in my days. I haven’t a clue where he found the old thing, but he probably embedded the shards himself.”

Bloodstone? “Does everything the Hunters do have to use blood? Bloodstone is fairly brittle.”

“Brittle…? Perhaps we’re thinking of different materials. Bloodstone is one of the strongest things I’ve worked with. I personally don’t use the stuff, but I used to.” He was looking not at the table in front of him, but through it. “Anything that gives that extra edge in a Hunt could save your skin.”

“You refer to a Hunt, but what were you Hunting, exactly? You’ve never said.”

He laughed bitterly. “I used to think them no more than beasts. People, the Iron Bull. The Hunt is the Church’s disposal system. They sent us after the sick to keep the rest of the city from contamination, but they made the sickness to begin with. Hunters are little more than glorified murderers.”

“And that’s why you left?”

“Yes. That’s why I left.”

There were a dozen questions he wanted to ask, like what kind of illness could be seen as beneficial to make, how it had gotten out, and how this Hunter knew more than all the others, but now was not the time.

He sighed and straightened, shaking out his shoulders before changing the subject. “I’ve seen weapons here made of metals I’ve never seen before. How many do you know?”

Now that was a question Hissrad could answer. He started with the more common metals and worked towards the rarer ones, rattling off strengths and weaknesses automatically. It gave his mind a moment to think on what he’d learned, and how exactly he should ask his questions to get answers that were anything approaching constructive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sukest and Patches would get along alright, I think. Neither of them like clerics and while they can both be decent people, there's definitely a bit of a moral deficit there.
> 
> This ones rushed due to irl happenings, next week should (hopefully) be better. See y'all then :3


	37. well this ones pretty short

This was the worst thing that had ever happened to him. He’d seen a lot and been through more, but this was it. This would be the end of him. 

The Hunter had his face buried in one of his pillows. To make matters worse, Sera was mad at him — had been mad at him the whole two weeks since she’d found out he was sick.

“Have I told you today that you’re a friggin idiot?”

“Not yet.” It was muffled by the pillow, but she heard him anyways. 

“Told you now, yeah? Sit up, there’s soup.”

He heard her set what sounded like a tray on the table by the bed. “I’ll still be sick if I eat the soup.”

“Yeah, but if you don’t eat it I’m gonna dump it on you. Then you’ll be hungry and soggy and all burnt, too.”

She would, too. Sera wasn’t one for empty threats. He pushed himself up and out of the mound of blankets he’d been buried under. This had to be half the blankets in the castle. He didn’t need nearly this many, no matter how hard he shivered. It was just the fever and he knew it. “Alright, alright. I’m up.”

“Good.” She perched on the edge of the frankly enormous bed. He had no idea where it had come from. “How’s recovery?”

“Same as yesterday.”

“Tried to make another grand escape yet?”

“Had one that stopped before it started. Turns out Vivienne’s a few rooms down. We went outside at the same time. I just closed the door again.”

Sera laughed. “You sound better today, at least. Not so much like you’ve swallowed a frog.”

His lungs were burning but he was so tired of coughing. It made his lungs feel worse and his ribs ache terribly. A small part of him knew that if he hadn’t used his blood so irresponsibly he wouldn’t have run out, wouldn’t be in this mess, but the rest of him was devoted to his little pity party. “It’s something.”

“I hear if you keep getting better you won’t have to sneak around to be outside. Well, as long as you’re not helping construction. Good way to land right back in bed.”

It would be better than being stuck in this room, that was certain. 

“Has Djura been by today?”

“Not yet.” He came by every day under the guise of poking fun, but the visits kept the Hunter from going insane. They never really discussed anything, but it was nice to see him. “What time is it?”

“Not quite noon. There’s another shipment this evening, everyone’s getting ready. It’s gotta be a big one, if the fuss is anything to go off.”

“We could certainly use the supplies. Is everyone sleeping inside these days?”

“Most. There’s room for everyone now, there’s a good number of roofs fixed now, but a couple like the outdoors I guess. I can’t say I know why though. Don’t you worry, you’ll be out to freeze your arse off with them before long.”

“You’ve said that for the last week.”

“Yeah, but now you’ve made actual progress. You sound loads better and you aren’t all splotchy and gross.”

“...thanks?”

Sera grinned. “You’ll be out before long, if I have to convince them to let you out myself! I hear we’re getting molasses soon, loads of fun to be had with that.”

The Hunter laughed, and managed to keep the wracking cough at bay until she’d left. He would get out of here, recovered or not. 

~~~~~~~

Varric climbed the steps to the upper walkway carrying a decently sized box. It had been a while since he’d gone to visit the Herald, and he aimed to fix that. 

He’d picked a good time to visit. Flighty wasn’t in the middle of one of his escapes, and he was coherent at the moment. “Hey. How’s it going?”

The elf was buried in his nest of blankets, but poked his head up. “It’s going. That’s about all I can say.”

“Now now, half of recovery is being positive.”

“I’m positive this is one of the worst things that’s ever happened to me.” He mumbles it into his pillows, but it was loud enough to hear. 

“Well, I’ve got something for you that might help it go a bit faster. See, we’ve finally gotten some regular shipments set up. The roads are a work in progress, but Ruffles is a miracle worker.”

Flighty pulled himself up, watching the box with interest. It had to be mind numbingly dull in here — any distraction was bound to be welcome. 

“Anyways, with regulars shipments, we’ve got more room for a couple luxury requests, so I put in a few.” He set the box on the table and hopped up on the chair to open it. 

He had couple books from the bookstore Flighty liked in Val Royeaux to start with. Varric had brought him what they’d salvaged from his room at Haven, but there hadn’t been much there to salvage. There were just a few books and the odd trinket, and he’d been stuck in his room long enough to read the books twice over by now. 

He had a few art supplies in the box too. Nothing fancy, but he got his hands on a few blank books, along with some pencils and a couple things of simple paint. The elf’s eyes lit up like it was a box full of gold, and suddenly the expensive little books didn’t seem so expensive. Varric gave him a gentle smile. “It’s not much, but I thought it might help.”

“I… thank you so-“ he broke off in another fit of painful-sounding coughing. Varric rifled through the shelves until he found the bottle of cough syrup and a spoon. 

“We’ve got plenty of this now. You aren’t the only one sick, but you’ve got one of the worse cases.” He measured some out. 

Flighty pulled a face at the taste, but swallowed it without complaint. The art supplies must have been more appreciated than he thought. He’d heard the elf hiss at the bottle before. The dwarf hadn’t even known elves could hiss until Flighty went off like a cat at bath time. “Thanks.”

“Any time. I can’t stay long, but let me know if there’s anything else you need.” He’d have asked if there was anything else the elf wanted, but he already knew what the answer would be.

He felt bad for leaving so soon, but he had a letter to write. Now that he had a bit of time, a good friend of his would want to know what was going on. 

~~~~~~~

Djura stepped through another dusty hall. Most of Skyhold’s inner walls were as strong as when they were built, the aged stone worn but steady. There was the occasional weak spot in the floor, but he had years of experience avoiding weak floors as he crept through the ruins of the burned city. 

He was technically still meant to be under observation, but after a couple of weeks the number of repairs that needed done had fallen to an all time low. That, and he doubted Cullen would come searching for him any time soon. He’d likely use the temporary lack of distraction to get some work done. 

The halls this deep in the keep had minimal signs of disturbance. It was likely no one had been here since the scout’s initial sweep. It had been rushed, focused more on searching for anything dangerous rather than actually investigating. Djura, on the other hand, was more focused on investigation and exploration than anything else.

He’d already found a handful of secret passages and servants tunnels, along with a good handful of hidden nooks and crannies. Some still held the possessions of the keep’s previous occupants —he’d already found a good number of valuables, to include jewelry and ancient knick-knacks, along with several books, the pages faded and written in a language he didn’t know.

Perhaps he could slip some of the jewelry onto the Commander while he wasn’t paying attention. For a man meant to command armies, he wasn’t terribly observant when it came to his personal appearance. Even the charming ambassador had a certain poise Commander Ruth-something lacked. The books he’d found would likely go to the spymaster — she’d have to contacts to translate them. He’d have to come back for those later. Unlike (most of) the jewelry, the books wouldn’t fit in his pockets.

The retired Hunter continued down the hall, peering into rooms as he passed. He was in what could have been storage once, though he’d found several places that could have been bedrooms. They seemed too large to be servants quarters, but maybe that’s what they were. He was hardly a castle expert.

Halfway down a barren hall he froze. The floor made a faintly off sound when he stepped on it — either he needed to be extremely careful where he set his feet to avoid the floor collapsing under him or there was a hidden passage somewhere around here. Given that the floor was stone at the moment, this was a secret. He took a few steps back and then moved forwards slowly, ghosting a hand along the wall as he went. 

Here, around waist-height, there was a small piece of the wall faintly unaligned from the rest. He slid a finger gently around the jutting tile. A small ridge on the bottom gave him the space he needed to hook his nails under it and swing the panel up. There was a small stone beneath the panel, embedded in the wall. The odd design shimmered with a faintly luminescent blue.

He pushed on the design, fingers tingling on contact, and the wall across from him slid open. Magic, instead of a mechanical contraption. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to that. The door closed behind him and he swore quietly. There was no obvious handle on this side, though there was nothing to be done for it now. 

Judging by the cobwebs and thick layer of dust, no one had been in here yet, though that was hardly surprising. The short hall led to a small library, heatless candles lit with gentle blue flames. Small bottles and jars stood next to the books on some of the shelves, one of which was empty of fluid but held what appeared to be a skull.

Something that could have been a table or a short podium stood in the center of the small chamber. It held a few scattered pages among the stacks of books, with one book open in the center. The pages made his head swim, the sigils strange and unfamiliar. 

He slid a hand over the edges of the wooden desk. A knot in the wood stood above the rest, and clicked into place when he pressed on it. The corner floor rattled and rose about an inch. The trapdoor swung open smoothly when he pulled on it. The ancient ladder, though wooden, held his weight despite its creaking protests.

The room underneath looked almost normal. There was a bed in the corner, sheets dusty but folded around the mattress carefully and properly. The bedside table and its candle were dusty, but the top was unmarred. The drawers were near empty, holding only a few books. Could this have been some scholar’s hide away? A mage, perhaps? 

One wall was covered in bookshelves, some with books, others with bottles or other knick-knacks. It was the other side of the room, however, that held his attention. Strange tools lined the walls above chests and workbenches, and on top of an ornate stone dais stood a hauntingly familiar lamp.

He knelt by this lamp. It could no longer help him, but a single messenger came to greet him. 

“Hello there.” 

It couldn’t reply, but he gave it a gentle smile all the same as he rifled through his pockets. He’d found a ring that would work perfectly as a bracelet on the messenger’s wrist.

The messenger smiled, not with its odd mouth but with its eyes, as it took the proffered ring. It turned it over in its small hands a few times before sliding it on.

“There you are.” Djura stood, and the messenger left with a bow. They’d unnerved him once, but those days were long past.

He climbed back up the ancient ladder. The lamp was near useless to him now, but Sukest would be excited to know it was here. Though, this might be something to tell him about after he recovered. It would be good for him to recover naturally. 

The newly-turned elf hadn’t said anything, but Djura was pretty sure he ran out of blood. Pneumonia could be serious, but it was more annoying than dangerous for a Hunter like him. A recovery period might teach him some patience.

A few minutes of searching revealed a small sigil that reopened the door, and he stepped back out into the hall. He made a mental note of where it was before he continued on. He had a necklace to slide onto the commander. If he was lucky, it would take the man a while to notice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ones pathetically short compared to the other chapters, sorry about that. It's been quite the week for me.  
> I'm about as sick as Sukest. He'll probably be sick until I'm not. Its somewhat cathartic to make him miserable.
> 
> Things should get pretty interesting next chapter, see y'all then.


	38. He wants his hat back

For the last week, Solas had felt something tapping insistently on the veil. It hadn’t surprised him to find the fade so active in such an ancient place, but this force was surprisingly persistent and he was determined to find its source. 

He hadn’t expected to find the force drumming on the Herald rather than the veil directly, but it didn’t surprise him either. He hadn’t walked the elf’s connecting dreams since his last visit to that putrid nightmare, but the insistent drumming came along one of those silk-thin threads. 

In theory, the thread would lead him to another of the Herald’s distorted memories, and though the thought of them was far from pleasant, he could either follow this thread or wait to see what happened. With so much else uncertain, Solas decided it was better to look into this before it became even more complicated — though he couldn't imagine how it could become more complicated, given what it was.

It quickly became apparent that this thread was not like the others. It buried itself deep, and resisted the mage’s attempts to tug at it. The other dreams had been apparent, easily found and followed, but this one wound and twisted away from him like a live snake. 

This thread, he realized, would lead not to a place, but to something alive, some creature or spirit. With this realization, he prepared accordingly. Practical robes and a bladed combat staff, just in case he needed it. It was a far cry from his preferred methods of combat, and he’d rather not fight unless he had to, but if it came to blows he’d be glad for it. 

He brushed his fingers gently across the thread as he went. It would be near impossible to track it directly, but he would need to keep it in sight. The thread, when he brushed it a few minutes later, curled away from the Herald to wrap gently around his wrist. 

Its grip was loose enough that he could shake it off should he need to, but it seemed content to merely guide him. Whatever was on the other end had a level of control and consciousness the elf had not expected. 

For a terrible moment, he remembered the creature on the stairs of the last nightmare, the one that bored into his soul with a glance without eyes and carried its axe like a promise. After that moment, he pushed away the thought, the fear. It would not help him here. 

The thread took him to a high, distant part of the fade, one very near to the first of the Herald’s dreams he’d walked, with the poisonous swamp and twisted creatures. For a moment he thought it would lead him back there, but it led him higher still, above the swamp and up and up until he settled on a carved stone walkway. 

The edges and corners of the dream wavered, the details unfocused until he sought them out with intent. This was an old place, only half-remembered. It had been a long time since he’d seen anything as old as this. The architecture was alien and unfamiliar, fundamentally foreign to all he’d seen since he’d woken, but so hauntingly familiar, similar to the places he’d known as a child. 

The walkway served as a bridge between two buildings, the sides open to the air above the ornate railings, but the roof was covered. The floor was tiled, some kind of pale flowering grass growing between the ancient cracked stones. 

The railings were made of carved stone and wrought iron, carved into arched and swirling patterns that climbed up the support pillars and the walls at either end of the bridge. There were open archways at either end, with a black iron support arch in the center of the bridge connected to another tower, though the tower there had no easily discernible entrance. 

Iron chains hung from the ceiling and the walls of the buildings around him. The crumbling tower in the center of the bridge bloomed above him, chains hanging from the flared walls as well. Some chains simply hung loose, while others ended in dented iron cages, cylindrical in shape, doors battered and hanging free. 

The most striking feature of this dream, however, was not on the bridge. Hanging in the sky, seemingly just out of reach, the moon shone a brilliant white. It seemed larger than life, and distantly the mage realized it hung in front of the purple distant clouds, above the misted mountains far below. 

It drew his attention in its entirety, and he was sure that this was why it took him so long to notice he was not alone on the bridge in this strange floating tower. On the other side of the central supportive arch stood a robed figure. The tall human man was watching him intently, and when the mage visibly noticed him, he gave the elf an odd but kind smile. 

His skin was nearly translucent, his swollen veins close to the surface of his skin, giving the man a nearly corpse-like appearance. His face carried the lines of age, but not nearly as many as his skin suggested he should. Skin like this came from days of death or centuries of life, not the handful of decades this man’s face suggested. 

His dark veins were easily visible just under his skin. Could he be a Lyrium addict? The man’s slanted eyes were sunken, deep bags showing a lack of sleep, but his gaze was keen, and the sparkle in his silver eyes was lively and sharp. 

“My guest arrives.” He spoke slowly and carefully, in a breathy, loose, and surprisingly pleasant voice. “You are not who I expected, but perhaps you can help me nonetheless.”

Solas studied the man carefully. Admittedly, this wasn’t what he had expected either. His robes were of fine quality, but threadbare and faded despite the obvious signs of care. “Perhaps I can. Might I ask who you are?”

“My name is Micolash,” said the odd man. “I am Headmaster of the School of Mensis, such as it is. What is a headmaster, when deprived of his students?"

He’d taken the robes for those of a circle mage. Could be be the Headmaster of some Tevinter academy? Could he be a spirit who had latched onto the echoes of a man from this odd ruin? Had it been some kind of school once? 

“What sort of help might you be searching for?”

“I’ve been trying to contact someone, but I’ve had precious little success.” He looked up to the moon for a moment, lost in thought, before turning back to his guest. “Ah, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves. You know my name, may I know yours?”

“My name is Solas.”

“Solace…? Might you be…no, I don’t suppose so. You don’t seem much like the other residents here, though I suppose appearances can be deceiving, especially in dreams. How is it that you’ve come to be here, Solace?”

“I felt you brush against the veil as I slept and I followed the disturbance here.”

“You must be a dreamer such as I am. How very fortunate,” the man said as he grinned and clasped his hands together. He then spread his arms in a grand gesture as he bowed. “Please, allow me to formally welcome you to my Nightmare, Solace.”

The mage gave a polite bow in return. “Thank you, Micolash.” 

The name felt odd on his tongue, as foreign as the architecture. Could this man be from the Anderfels? Could this dream be of some old tower there? It could explain the architecture. He knew little of the northern land beyond snatches of once-grand cities in the Fade. Even he could not travel to the ravaged remains to dream.

“But of course.” The man straightened. His odd skin was unsettling and his smile was crooked, but something about him gave Solas the impression of earnest intentions. 

“What manner of help do you seek, Micolash?”

“As I said, there is someone I’ve been attempting to contact, but he can’t seem to hear me. A rather striking Hunter, one skilled in his trade. Perhaps you know him?”

He only knew two Hunters, the Herald and the one who coated himself in ash, Djura. “Can you describe him to me?”

The man sighed. “I’ve never seen his face. A rather stubborn crow, that one. Always picking up what doesn’t belong to him. He carries a wicked claw, a long curved folding blade, carefully and skillfully worked with blood. He carries rather impressive firearm, of Cainhurst make if I’m not mistaken. I’ve only known a precious few to carry Cainhurst weapons, and most have long passed on.”

The Herald, then. Djura fit none of those descriptors. “I believe I know the Hunter you seek. If I might ask, how do you know him?”

“He’s the man who killed me, you see. We had our quarrel in the past, but now I believe he may be just the one I need. He was capable of breaking into my Nightmare, and has at least one Chalice. A man like that could prove very helpful indeed.”

The man who killed him? It might explain the man’s appearance. He shook the thought away. “You are spry for a dead man.”

“Aren’t I? He was rather determined.” The scholar paused, seeing the look of disbelief on the mage’s face. “Ah, I forget that not all are versed in matters in life and death. A death here is not a death true, but an awakening. However, it seems something happened to my body as I slept. Perhaps the Hunter was more thorough in his Hunt than I had expected. An inconvenience, but not a terrible one. When I woke from my Nightmare, it was in the presence of a mad man.”

Solas knew a death in dreams was a spiritual death. Spiritual death meant Tranquility, a strange human name for a phenomenon he found more disturbing than peaceful. Had this man discovered a way to avoid that? How? Who was this scholar, and how had he come to know such things?

Micolash continued, breaking him from his thoughts. “I’m afraid to say that in the beginning, I was thoroughly fooled. The madman pulled me to him, and I thought him a god for his grace and power. I soon learned he was no more than an arrogant fool, grasping for what he did not understand. Take heart, I told him. I myself have newly escaped from the same delusion of godliness and hollow grandeur. He did not appreciate my insight. But I made my realization too late, and my colleagues did not share my views.”

“Are you a Hunter?” He only half meant to ask the question aloud.

He laughed quietly. “No, no. Ah, but the Hunters must be new to you. A rather exotic breed, those. They have their purpose, but it would seem they’ve been fooled by the madman as my former students are. I suppose there comes a time in every powerful organization's life where they take a knee before grandeur, though the Hunters have done this a time or two before. Self awareness mates poorly with such a high mortality rate, no? Introspection would require insight the journeymen cannot possess. Even so, I expected a certain skepticism, but how the masses always seek a leader… it's no matter. The Hunter I seek has escaped this sorry fate, proving his worth in this celestial game."

“This madman — who is he?”

“He calls himself Corypheus, the Elder One. Trite, isn't it? No less than I would expect from a foolish pretender, in hindsight, though I too thought it fateful at the time.Alas, such a disappointment! If the gods wish to play with puppets, even temporary ones, should they not at least be pleasing to look upon? Size is all well and good, but it won’t hid such clumsy stitching. Though, however temporary and borrowed as his power may be, now I alone remain a scholar of Mensis. A single man does not make a formidable army, as you might imagine.”

“It rather depends on the single man, does it not? Still, you have peaked my interest. What would you have me do to help you?”

“Please, pass this Hunter a message for me. Tell him I am here, where we last met, and that I would like a word with him. That, and I believe he has something that belongs to me.”

~~~~~~~

Dorian was on his way back to the designated library from the tavern when he heard the commotion at the gate. He stopped to lean on the upper wall near the stairs and observe. It seemed a series of box wagons was trying to enter the gate, but they didn’t want to let the guards perform their customary search.

He was about to go back inside when he saw a familiar face emerge from near the middle of the chain. Was that… Felix? He made his way down the stairs as quickly as he could without drawing undue attention to himself. That was definitely Felix. He looked much better than the last time Dorian had seen him. His cheeks had filled out, and his skin was a healthier color. 

By the time he got there Leliana herself had appeared and was speaking quietly with the guards. A few minutes later the wagons were waved through the gate towards the empty space near the stables.

Felix caught sight of him and came over, grinning widely. “Dorian! How have you been? I hear you’ve gone on a rather exciting holiday. Brisk, isn’t it?”

“Brisk indeed. Now, not that I’m unhappy to see you, but what ever are you doing here?”

“Walk with me. I’ll tell you on the way.” They started after the wagons. When he spoke again his voice was lower, though he kept his casual demeanor. “We got a letter from your spymaster saying that the Herald was sick. She asked us to bring everything those people left in the basement.”

He eyed the carts warily. “Ah. To treat him, I assume.”

“That seems most likely. I came along with the lot. The spymaster didn’t invite me here, but she didn’t forbid me either. That, and…” he trailed off, and didn’t speak again for a moment. When he did, he’d lost his smile. “They’ve brought my father as well, as a prisoner. To be judged for his crimes, they said.”

“Oh, Felix.” He wanted so badly to embrace the man, but this wasn’t the place. Every wall had eyes.

“Things aren’t looking good. There hasn’t been an official judgement — they say the Inquisitor will do that.”

“As far as I know we don’t have an Inquisitor. Not unless they’ve declared one in secret.”

They stopped at the carts. Leliana was still there, watching as a few of her people unloaded the carefully packed and padded boxes. She shepherded them unceremoniously through the kitchens. It made sense that they wouldn’t want to carry this through the main hall.

Someone stepped out of the door around one of the scouts — that other Hunter, Djura. He was absolutely filthy, covered in dust and cobwebs, but it didn’t seem to bother the man in the slightest. When he saw the mage, he made his way over.

“I thought our next shipment wasn't until later this week?” His one eye flicked over to Felix. “And who’s this? Another new arrival?”

Felix had gone tense and quiet, and watched the man carefully. “You’re one of them, aren’t you? One of the Hunters? You move just like them.”

Djura’s smile slipped, but he softened his stare. “No, not anymore. I haven’t been for a long time. And you are…?”

“Felix. Felix Alexius.”

Recognition flashed across the man’s face. “Ah. From Redcliffe, then. I’ve heard about what happened there. Rest assured, the Hunters and I have a few… disagreements, especially when it comes to ethics. You're in no danger from me, unless you're some sort of poorly thought-out assassin.”

Felix nodded slowly, considering this odd Hunter. “That, I am not.”

“Excellent! I’m sure we’ll get along just fine. Now,” he said, turning back to Dorian, “Have you see Commander Cullen? I have something for him.”

“That isn't ominous at all, knowing you. He's in his tower, refusing to be sociable.”

“Thank you. I’ll be off, then.”

He wandered off across the courtyard, pace quick but unhurried. Felix watched him go. “I did not realize there were Hunters here.”

“Just the one. He says he's retired, very tongue-in-cheek. Every time someone asks him how that happened he delights them with a different story--ranging from epic duels to an unfortunate allergy to grave dirt. Here, let’s get inside. It’s always freezing out here.” He looked over to Leliana, who waved him off.

They started up to the library. There was a nice spot with a table and a few cushy chairs where Dorian spent most of his time. He hurriedly tidied the table and hoped that Felix wouldn’t mention the obvious signs that he’d been sleeping here. Skyhold was a bit short on cleared rooms at the moment.

A few of the people stopped to stare at his new companion: some of them curious, others concerned, and more still watching them like they expected a grand battle to break out at any moment. It was nothing they hadn’t expected and Dorian refused to take it to heart. 

“Welcome to my little corner of Skyhold.”

Felix grinned and sat down. “Charming.”

“I must say, you’re looking well. How do you feel?” He’d climbed all the way up to the library and he was hardly out of breath. 

“Fantastic. I haven’t felt like this in a long time. I hadn’t been sure it was going to work, but that Herald of yours was spot on. How is he, by the way?”

“On bedrest last I’d heard, and not terribly happy about it.”

“Is it that serious? What’s happened?”

“He’s caught a particularly serious case of pneumonia.” The mage drummed his fingers on the table. “He would probably be doing much if he’d reported it, but he didn’t. From what I’ve heard he was sick for at least a week before someone brought him in.”

Felix’s eyebrows shot up. “And when you say ‘brought him in’…”

“Our resident horde of rampaging Qunari physically carried him to the infirmary. He got quite the lecture for that, I almost wish I’d been there to hear it.”

"A horde of...?"

"I jest. There's only one, but he qualifies as a horde to himself. No doubt you'll see him slinking about during your stay."

“Is he alright? Pneumonia can be quite serious.”

“The healers are confident he’ll recover. He’s well enough to argue against being on bedrest.”

“That’s something. So, how have things been? You’ll have to tell me all about your travels.”

His travels might have been miserable, but Dorian never passed on a chance to complain with a friend. Besides, the library didn’t feel as cold with Felix smiling so warmly at him.  
~~~~~~~

Hissrad sat back in his chair at the tavern. It was fairly slow at the moment — most people were out working at this time of day. One of the lesser-known perks of mercenary work. Battle was their job, but if there was no battle? Drinking. Drinking was good. 

The Herald came in earlier, but after a moment of eye contact he’d settled at an out of the way table. Hissrad left him alone. Few people would recognize him without his distinctive armor, and there was little reason to bother a lone elf in the corner.

It was hard to blame him for wanting a change of scenery. He’d been stuck in his room for weeks. Hissrad glanced over every once in a while to check on the elf, but so far things had been uneventful. He might actually be asleep right now, if the way he was slumped on the table was any indication. As much as he hated being sick, he still was.

The Seeker came in a half hour later and scanned the room. Hissrad motioned for her to come to him.

“Have you seen the Herald?”

He nodded towards the sleeping figure. "It looks like he just wanted to sleep somewhere else. Can't blame him."

She sighed. “I suppose not. How long has be been here?”

“He came in about an hour ago, was awake for maybe half that.”

“Hmm. It doesn’t seem like him to fall asleep around this many people.”

“I doubt it was on purpose. He hates that he’s sick, but he still is. Who sounded the alarm?”

“No one. I went to check in on him and found him missing. I have to wonder how he gets out here without being discovered.”

“Without his armor hardly anyone recognizes him. That, and I’d guess he climbs over the roof to the walls and comes down from there instead of going through the main hall.”

“Is that… no, I suppose it wouldn’t be safe. When has he ever prioritized his own safety?” She looked at the sleeping figure fondly.

“I’ve noticed. Though, he probably feels safer here than he does shut in his room.”

“In a tavern?” Her expression shifted to concern. “He is more likely to be robbed than left in peace, if no one knows he is the Herald.”

“He doesn’t like enclosed spaces. He’s always tense indoors, but he relaxes as soon as he’s outside. He’s been stuck in a stone box for the last few weeks, I’d imagine he’s pretty happy to be out for a while.”

Cassandra looked conflicted. She likely hadn’t noticed, though he couldn’t blame her for that. She was never taught to watch people like he had been, and the Herald hid his weaknesses whenever he could.

“You might want to let him out more, just to the gardens or something. I imagine he’d run off less if you gave him more room to breathe.”

“I’ll… keep that in mind.” 

“You can leave him here for now, if you want. I’ll sent him back to bed when he wakes up.”

“I think I’ll take you up on that.” She hesitated. “Thank you, Bull.”

“Don’t mention it.”

He leaned back in his chair once she’d left and picked up his neglected tankard. Krem leaned on the stack of crates next to him and grinned. “She seems to really respect the Herald.”

Hissrad snorted into his tankard. “Five gold says she’s gonna be respecting his dick sooner or later.”

Krem laughed, but wouldn’t take the bet. Betting against the chief was a good way to lose his coin.

They wound up carrying the still sleeping elf back to his room a few hours later to avoid the dinner rush when they were unable to wake him, and sent a passing scout to bring a healer to his room. Hissrad wasn’t used to being wrong, but it seemed the Herald was sicker than he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well here it is. It’s up. I’m gonna take a nap now :D


	39. the fuckening(tm)

The Hunter woke up in what felt like his bed. This was odd, as the last place he remembered being was in the tavern. But then, he felt pretty terrible at the moment. He might have come back back to his room and just not remember doing it. It felt like he was freezing, and though he knew it was the fever doing it, he buried himself further under his blankets. Perhaps the trip to the tavern had been too much? He’d hardly done anything, though.

He heard someone in the room shift, but couldn’t muster up the energy to see who it was. This was a miserable time to be awake. He didn’t know who was in the room with him, but for once, he didn’t particularly care.

It only felt like a little while, but he must have been drifting, as he woke when he heard the door open.

“How is he?” Sera. She came by almost daily. He should sit up, greet her, but he couldn’t muster the energy.

“Unconscious. He went out for a bit yesterday and must have overdone it.” Varric. He came by less often, but was still a common and very welcome visitor.

They kept talking, but he couldn’t make out the words. He slipped back out of consciousness as quietly as he’d come.

~~~~~~~

It had been three days since the retired Hunter slipped the necklace on the Commander during a moment of distraction and the man still hadn’t noticed his new jewelry. Perhaps he should have picked something bulkier? Something that could catch on his shirt a little, to make things more fair. But the one he’d given him matched both his eyes and his outfit, and that was difficult to find given the man’s abysmal fashion sense. Djura walked about in his standard coating of ash and still regularly outclassed him.

A few people, of course, had noticed immediately, but no one dared bring attention to it.

The spymaster was first to notice, and caught on to what was happening almost immediately. It was the spymaster who had called him down to the basement today as well. He hadn’t done anything warranting a slap on the wrist in the last few days, not unless she minded his helping with construction or fending off Sera’s ruthless advances on the budding kitchen, so he made his jaunty way down ready to refute whatever accusation she could throw. He was marginally more concerned when the scout stopped to gather Solas into their little punitive party. Solas was many things, but a great lover of mischief he was not.

The mage looked as curious as he was. Djura only knew the scout led them to the right place when he saw the pair of guards standing outside the door. It was a hall deep in the basement, one he hadn’t walked before. They ushered the pair inside and closed the door, though the three of them stayed in the hall.

As soon as he looked around he froze. This was a ministration clinic. Here, in Skyhold? Did the Hunters somehow have a foothold here? Leliana stood from the corner table. He’d somehow missed her when he entered the room. Solas stayed a half-step behind him, and quietly observed.

“There you are.” She paused, seeing the unusual fear in his eyes, before realization crossed her face. “All of this is my doing. You’re the only Hunter here.”

He took a deep breath and did his best to relax. “Gave me quite the fright there. I thought for a moment I was about the meet my end. Where in the world did you get this equipment?”

“Redcliffe. The Hunters to whom it belonged can no longer make use of it. I had it brought here for our use and oversight. ”

“And how much do you know about what you’ve brought here?”

“A scant amount, I’m afraid. That’s why I sent for you.”

“But you are aware that the majority of this medicine is blood, much of it human, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am aware. Dead men do not need blood any longer, as you surely know — we, however, might put it to good use.”

He nodded, but his heart dropped. That was a line of reasoning all too familiar. “I wanted to be sure. Are you certain you want to use it? It’s a dangerous path to take.”

“We are already on a dangerous path. If he does not recover, if the Inquisition does not move forwards soon, we'll hang ourselves with the very rope we now climb. There is no price too dear, no advantage we can leave unconsidered. This is war.”

“As great men have always said.” Solas stood behind him, inside the door but still within reach of it.

“I am no man. Nor is the Herald. Nothing is beyond consideration.”

“Are we in such dire circumstances that we should resort to this? Do you have something in particular in mind for the Herald that cannot wait?”

“No other among us could claim better candidacy for Inquisitor. Surely you know this.” 

Djura thought back to what he’d learned on the way here. “That… that’s the person in charge, isn’t it? The one on top? Just to be sure.” 

“Yes. We thought it best to wait for him to recover and avoid the appearance of weakness, but we cannot wait any longer.”

Sukest, as… not a Vicar, but something close. Who even was the current Vicar? Sukest might know, he’d have to ask. “Do you think he’ll accept?”

“I do not know.” She paused. “I will be honest with you. You are a valued ally. I hope to work with you for some time to come.”

“Interesting. Careful, spymaster. That almost sounded like a threat.”

“It is not. A threat implies a certain... lack of conviction. I am not threatening you, but informing you of my intentions. While we were traveling to Skyhold, soon after we recovered the Herald, I overheard a rather interesting conversation. As I understand it, he has not, in fact, lost his memory. Is that correct?”

Solas’ eyes sharpened, shoulders tense. He hadn’t known?

Admittedly, hearing her say it felt like a punch to the gut. Yet he’d always been taught that honesty was the best policy, why change that now? “That’s right.

She let out a breath, long and slow, then slumped back into a chair. “How unfortunate. Do many others know?”

“Only the two of us. He is missing part of his memory, make no mistake, though not nearly as much as he claims.”

“How could I have overlooked this for so long?”

“I’m not sure. Sukest is many things, but a skilled liar isn’t one. Though, to be fair, you had no reference for the truth. How could you know what Yharnam is like, or any other world you’ve never heard of? You can’t know what no one else does.”

“That is exactly what I must know. We have gone over your maps and the Herald’s sketches. What else have I missed?”

“It’s not so much a matter of missing things as it is a lack of background information. As far as I can tell, we’re from a different world entirely. I have always believed in honesty, and I see no reason to stop now,” he added when he saw the disbelieving look Solas gave him. “Our worlds are nothing alike, not in structure nor values.”

“Then tell me of it,” said the spymaster.

“Well, we have whatever it is the Choir does, and supposedly some saints can perform some kind of miraculous healing with words alone, but I’ve never seen it done myself, or met anyone who had. That’s the closest thing we have to your magic.”

She stared at the wall behind him. “Do your races differ from ours?”

“We have giants, or at least stories of them, and we have humans and the Watchers. I’ve heard of dwarves, but your elves and qunari are new to me.”

“Even though Sukest himself is an elf?”

“That’s a recent development as far as I know. If there are elves in Carim or in the surrounding countries, I have not seen or heard of them.”

“So he has, what, somehow changed bodies? Solas, can this be done?”

“Though I am skilled, I beg you to remember I am not an expert in all things arcane. No one is. The closest thing I know of would be possession.” He stood almost defensively, his back to the wall. Clearly he was not enjoying this conversation. 

“It wouldn't be the strangest thing he’s done, actually,” Djura admitted, “But it isn’t something I’ve heard of before. It does sound unbelievable, I know. That’s likely why he claimed amnesia to begin with. From what I’ve heard you had him unlacing his boots for the hangman the moment he got here.”

“Can you blame us?” She looked up at him, her face masked, but he’d dealt with masked faces his entire life. She was anxious, unsure whether to trust him but desperate for answers.

“No, I can’t. As a stranger in a strange land, I understand more than most what faith it takes to imagine we’re telling the truth. If you want confirmation, talk to Sukest. I won’t mention this to him. If you push, he’ll crack easily enough. Compare our answers, then decide.”

“That’s all I can do.” 

“Sukest himself would know how to treat himself with blood ministration better than I do. Set him in here and he’ll be up before you know it.”

“Do you have any knowledge on the subject?”

“I no longer use the blood.” He cast his eyes around the room, and for a moment he felt a thousand years old. The ashen Hunter looked back to Leliana. “I will do many things for the Inquisition, but this is not one. The blood is little better than pipe dreams and twice as addictive. It makes good men monsters, and it will destroy whatever it can. This is the most dangerous thing our people brought to Thedas. Sukest can decide for himself whether the use is worth it.” 

He knew without a doubt the young Hunter would leap at the chance, but he could always hope for a change of heart.

“Very well. Thank you, Djura.”

~~~~~~~

Solas knocked on the door to the Herald’s room. They decided it would be best if he confirmed Djura’s information — Leliana could interrogate him, but that would destroy his trust. An unsettled, frightened Hunter could not lead the Inquisition; his friend’s responses were fight or flight, and he would not fight the people he saved. Djura hoped. The mage, however, had spent a good deal of time with Herald. He had been the one to teach him of this world, perhaps he would be willing to teach the mage of his. 

The Herald answered from inside, and Solas opened the door. Good, he was between visitors right now. Getting Sera to leave was nearly impossible, nevermind the havoc she caused when not in the room. Solas hoped Skyhold would still stand when he was finished.

“Solas.” The Herald looked almost surprised to see him and pushed himself upright, shaking off the upper layer of his blanket nest. “What can I do for you?”

“I have a few questions to ask you, if you wouldn’t mind. Leliana and I had a rather interesting conversation recently, and we wanted your input.”

“Ask away.” He propped himself up against the headboard. He sounded better today, his breathing quiet and steady rather than his recent wheezing. 

“It’s come to our attention that you may not have lost your memory after all. Is there any truth to that?”

The guilt on the Herald’s face was all the confirmation he needed. 

“Why?” He didn’t need to elaborate. 

“I… I didn’t know what else to do.” He was nearly whispering. “I didn’t know where I was, or how I got there. From the middle of the Hunt to… Haven, I suppose, and nothing in between. By the time I started putting the pieces together, it was too late to turn back.”

“You have no recollection of your journey here?”

“No. I haven’t… haven’t lost all my memories, but I am missing pieces. Nothing -- well, I suppose I can’t say it’s nothing important. I’ve no idea what I’ve forgotten. I’m only missing a little, though. I don’t have the full amnesia I’ve claimed.” He looked at the floor, avoiding eye contact.

Solas sighed. “Very well.”

The Herald looked up, confused. “... that’s all?”

“I won’t lie, I am not exactly pleased with the situation, but anger would serve no purpose here. Though I cannot say that anyone else would have the same reaction.”

His small bubble of hope burst. “Who all knows?”

“Aside from myself, only Leliana and Djura. Leliana told me she overheard a conversation between the two of you, on the journey from Haven?”

Realization flashed across his face. “She… that was ages ago. Weeks, even. Why would she wait?”

“To let you settle here, if I had to guess. If you’re feeling up to it, Leliana has a few questions she’d like to ask you.”

Unsurprisingly, he leapt at the chance to go somewhere without having to hide. It was a long walk to what Djura had called the clinic, and though the Herald’s breathing was near ragged when they arrived, he refused to complain. 

Djura and Lelina were still here, the spymaster inspecting an open crate and the ashen Hunter sitting defensively at the corner table. He didn’t want to be here, that much was clear. The man was nearly as unsettled as Solas himself, but was much more willing to show it. 

The Herald paused in the doorway and looked around, confusion on his face. Leliana looked up from the crate. 

“You’ve arrived.” She paused. “Solas?”

He only nodded. She would know what he meant. The Herald looked between the two of them, then to Djura. 

The ashen Hunter pulled out the chair next to him. “Come on, have a seat.”

He sat, still concerned, and looked around the room again. “So… what’s all this doing here?”

“We have something to discuss,” said Leliana, sitting down across from him. “Two things, actually. First, your memory and current condition. Second, the Inquisition.”

“Alright.” He tried not to let his emotions show, but both his shoulders and his ears drooped. The Herald really was terrible at hiding how he felt, though if what Djura told them was true, he might have an excuse.

“Solas has already spoken to you, correct?”

“He has.” The Herald was trying not to fidget with only mild success. 

“Good. Have you any recollection of your journey from your city?”

“No. I was in the middle of the Hunt, and then I was here.”

“Where did you appear? Were you with the other Hunters?”

“No, I… I think it was your temple, actually. The one that held the Conclave. I woke in the basement hallway to your Divine calling for help. Not that I knew who she was. She just...called for help. I couldn’t ignore it.”

Leliana looked for a moment as though she’d been slapped. “You know what happened there?”

“Only what I saw. I woke in the hallway and went towards the yelling. In the room was your Divine, Corypheus, and several armored… guards, I guess? They had griffin armor, like Blackwall. Grey Wardens, that’s what you call them. Isn’t it? They were in the middle of some ritual, but I think went wrong. Corypheus had a cast-metal sphere. It glowed green, like the Breach. Like my mark. . Your Divine was in front of him, held in place somehow. I think she was floating? The details are blurry.” 

He gave Leliana an apologetic look, but she only motioned for him to continue, expression fierce. 

“She was held, but not very well. She kicked the sphere out of his hand, and it rolled across the floor towards me. I picked it up. That’s when I got the Anchor, I think. It burned to hold it, burned with some kind of power. I was somewhere else, once I picked it up. It was… green, and shrouded in fog. Looking back, I think it was the Fade. I fell out of a rift, didn’t I?”

“You did. Several of our soldiers saw you do so. ”

“It was so dark. There wasn’t much there, just… beasts. Sort of? They were only half-turned.”

Djura scowled, but didn’t say anything. 

The Herald sighed. “They aren’t dead. I didn’t kill them, I ran like a coward. As beasts are want to do, they followed. There was a light in the distance — it must have been the rift. Your Divine was next to it. She demanded I go, and pushed me. When I grabbed for her she was yanked from view. I would not have made it otherwise, she gave her life for mine. I fell unconscious when I stepped through. You know the rest.”

There was what must have been a full minute before Solas broke the silence. The last thing he’d called a beast had been that Thing in his dream, in the room full of living corpses. This was his chance for answers. 

“These beasts — what are they?”

Djura sighed deeply, then answered. “I reckon we’ll have conflicting answers about that.”

“They’re dangerous.” The Herald looked at the floor to avoid Djura’s glare. 

“They’re sick people.” The retired Hunter slammed a clenched fist on the table. It was louder than it had any right to be — had he broken part of it? “They aren’t mindless animals, Sukest, not prey to be Hunted!”

The mage had never heard Djura yell before. He’d laugh loudly and call across the room, but this was the first time he’d snarled about something. 

The Herald finally met his gaze. “They’re. Dangerous. I left yours alone, didn’t I?”

“And how many others did you kill?”

“As many as I could. Evidently not enough. Last I saw, the Hunt was in full swing.”

Leliana interrupted before they could continue. “So what are they? What kind of sickness could make someone an animal?”

“The Scourge,” said the Herald coldly. “Lycanthropy.”

“As in… werewolves?”

“Yes. Those sick people,” he said with a glance to Djura, “Certainly don’t act like any sick person I’ve ever met. Unless, of course, sick people usually do their best to bite your throat out, and then I’ve definitely been to the wrong kinds of hospitals.”

Solas tried not to be sick as the thought once more of the Herald’s dreams and their deformed denizens. 

“Lycanthropy? I…” The spymaster paused, for once lost in thought. “I have seen werewolves only once before. I hadn’t thought them real until that day. And this city, Yharnam, is full of them?”

“Yharnam, and the labyrinthe beneath it.”

“A labyrinthe?” Leliana raised an eyebrow. 

“Inhabited by the Watchers,” Djura explained. “They’re like humans, but taller. Pale skin and light hair, but with pitch-dark eyes.”

“They hit surprisingly hard,” added the Herald. “They look weak and malnourished, but they’re more than capable of, say, lifting you by the throat to slam you back against the ground.”

He looked bitter enough that there had to be a story there, but Solas didn’t want to know it. “These Watchers, are they here?”

“I haven’t seen any. Most Hunters don’t know much about them. Most stay in the labyrinthe.”

“Tell that to the ones by the cathedral,” muttered the Herald. He was ignored. 

Leliana changed the subject. “Djura has explained the basics of the Healing Church, but lacks the current names and events. How much do you know?”

“I wasn’t terribly involved until things went wrong, but I can try to answer your questions.”

“Who is the current leader of your church?”

“Vicar Amelia was the last I know of.” Djura added. “But I’ve been retired for a fair few years. She was a good, gentle woman, or so I heard. She was our Divine, if you will. I hope she is well, wherever she is.”

“Ah,” Sukest looked away from his friend. “The late Vicar Amelia…”

“Late?” Djura raised an eyebrow. “What happened to her?”

“She succumbed to the scourge.” The Herald conjured a golden pendant to his hand. “Made an awful beast, I’ll tell you that. Huge, white-furred thing with nasty antlers. Her howling damn near deafened me.”

Leliana looked vaguely ill, though she did her best to mask it. “Then the church is currently without a leader?”

“The Choir will have taken charge. Were they present for the Hunt?”

“I met one or two, but the upper Cathedral Ward was thoroughly fucked by the time I got there. Scourge beasts swinging from the chandelier, Choir corpses, broken statues, everything a mess. I’ve no idea what happened to them. Until Redcliffe I hadn’t known there were any surviving Choir members.”

Djura sighed. “Did anyone survive your Hunt?” 

“...Eileen was alive, last time I saw her.”

“That’s all?”

“Alfred was fine.”

“Who the fuck is Alfred?”

“Executioner, what’s left of them…” Sukest frowned. “That’s, uh, the Hunters in Cainhurst? They were Hunting Cainhurst I think?”

“Two, then? That’s something, at least. Eileen is hardly a leader, though, and the Crows would put a stop to the blood drunk fools sooner than lead them. I would guess they’ve banded under whoever leads the Templars or under Corypheus himself.”

“Their leader, the one we met in Val Royeaux, had a Radiant Sword Hunter badge.”

“I thought Ludwig was dead?”

“He most certainly is. I saw to it personally.” He looked grim, as though he’d swallowed something foul.

Djura winced. “Of course you did. Who else did you cut down?”

“Gascoigne and Henryk were blood drunk. The good Father killed his own wife. The Hunters I met by the chapel attacked me on sight. So did the ones in Yahar’gul.”

“Gascoigne’s fallen?” Djura looked shocked and more than a little hurt, like he’d just received the worst surprise he’d ever gotten. 

“I found him in the graveyard under Oedon Chapel. He- well. This is hardly the time for more details.”

Leliana intercepted the Herald to give the distraught ashen Hunter a moment to recover. “Was it a goal of yours to tear down the Healing Church?”

“Not really, no. Most of the ones I killed had succumbed to the scourge already. Their roles meant nothing to me.”

“So you accidentally tore down an entire church?” He couldn’t tell if Leliana was shocked, impressed, or simply wary.

“It was mostly fallen already. They’d barricades themselves up by the cathedral to wait out the Hunt, but they didn’t account for the beasts already inside the gates.”

“Have you heard anything from Mensis? They’re not usually active during the Hunt, though Yahar’gul was louder than normal. If I’m not mistaken, I believe I heard Paarl? He’s been quiet for a long time now.”

“I fell out of Yhar’gul’s jail right on to him. He’s no longer among the living, if he ever was to begin with. As for Mensis, I found the guy with the tallest cage. If that was their leader, then he’s dead too.”

Solas knew that word. Mensis. Did he mean Micolash? Had he not known who he was killing? What did he mean by cage? He hadn’t seen a cage when they’d met.

“Did Mensis fall apart so easily?” Djura seemed actually surprised by that.

“The red moon was up by the time I got there, either everything had gone to shit before then or…” he trailed off. “Djura?”

The retired Hunter had gone still and pale, and had a hand over his mouth in shock as he stared wide eyed at the Herald. 

“Djura?” Leliana had something approaching concern on her face. 

Solas took a step forwards, but knew better than to set a hand on the man’s shoulder. This clearly wasn’t the harvest moon as he knew it. 

“Did… did you not see it?”

“No,” said Djura after a moment, his voice odd and distant. “I didn’t. It- it’s a localized event. Where was it?”

“Central Yharnam, the upper and lower Cathedral Ward, and Yahar’gul. Come to think of it, I couldn’t see it from Byrgenworth.”

“This red moon, what is it? We have our eclipses, but they are not… localized, as you put it.” Leliana tried to settle herself with only moderate success.

“It’s a giant red moon floating in the sky. The sky turns all blue and purple around it, too.”

“It’s a sign that everything’s gone to shit.” Djura wiped his face with his hands and straightened. “The last one rose over Old Yharnam.”

“And what happened there?”

“A massacre. We burned it to the ground to keep the beasts at bay.” He spoke quietly, to the floor. “The Watchers rose up from the labyrinthe and nearly overcame us. It was my… my last night as a Hunter.”

No one was quite sure how to respond. After a time, the Herald broke the silence, addressing Leliana. “Did you have other questions, or shall we move on?”

“I have other questions, but they can wait for another time.”

“Very well. You have concerns with the Inquisition, you said? What are they?”

“The Inquisition, as it stands, will not last.”

The Herald slumped in his chair. “Of course not. What’s tearing it down this time?”

“Our stagnation. We need to move forwards, prepare for what’s to come.”

“How?”

“The first thing we need to do is choose an Inquisitor.”

“I take it you have candidates in mind?”

“I wanted to hear what you thought on the matter.”

He considered that for a moment. “I would suggest either Josephine or Cassandra.”

Leliana raised her eyebrows. “Any particular reasons?”

“Josephine is a gifted diplomat, a perfect fit for what I understand to be a political position, even with its religious shading. If it is not entirely political, I recommend Cassandra. She has the drive to get things done and a clearly cut set of goals and morals.”

She considered him a moment. “I have asked many members of the Inquisition who they thought would best suit the position.”

“And who did they elect?”

“Most nominated you.”

He stared for a moment, uncomprehending. “What?”

“They-“

“No, I heard you, just… why?”

“Is that a joke? You do realize that every soul here owes their life to you? We would not have made it without your skill. Many here look up to you, many-“

“Many,” he interrupted, “believe I am a prophet to a god I don’t believe in.”

“And what do you believe in, exactly?”

“Certainly not gods. I believe in powerful beings, but I see no reason they would care for those beneath them.”

“You are powerful, but you still care for your followers.”

“Don’t- don’t do that.” The Herald looked deeply unsettled. “I’m not some- some prophet, I’m a Hunter.”

The air around him wavered for a moment as he conjured something. His black feathered uniform and its mask, he saw. It was repaired now, and looked as though it had never been damaged to begin with. He had his Saif in one hand and firearm in the other.

“In case you’ve forgotten, I’m the furthest thing from a prophet you can get. People raise gods, and I put them back down.”

Leliana, to her credit, didn’t flinch, though she did stand. “I haven’t forgotten. Not that you’re a Hunter, not what you did at Redcliffe, and especially not all this.”

She spread her arms and gestured to the room they stood in. The Herald looked around, though he didn’t remove his mask. 

“Why have you brought this here? I thought blood magic was counter to everything you believed in.”

“We cannot move forward with an Inquisitor who has pneumonia.”

“I’m not- argh! Solas, you’ve been quiet. What do you think?”

“I think you present the best chance for the Inquisition’s survival.”

This was not the answer he wanted to hear, but it was what he had. The Herald huffed. 

Djura, somewhat recovered, laughed weakly. “If you think about it, being Inquisitor doesn’t change much. You’re still going to find all the odd little corners to do… whatever it is you do that took you all the way out to Byrgenworth.”

“Why don’t you be the Inquisitor, then?”

The retired Hunter looked to Leliana, who shook her head. 

Djura turned back to him. “Because I’m tragically old, and Leliana says no. Besides, if you accept you get to own the castle.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glad we've got that over with
> 
> oooo so mysterious, what happens now?
> 
> hope ya'll enjoyed :3


	40. Hey look eye contact

“Congratulations, Inquisitor.”

“Fuck you,” said the Hunter, sitting in a garden bush with his head in his hands. “This was a terrible idea.”

“Aww, don’t be like that.” Djura grinned. “Besides, I’ve got something to show you. Call it a prize. Come on.”

Djura lead him up to the walls to avoid the crowd, then down to the back door of the kitchens. 

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

He led the Hunter through the dusty maze of hallways under the keep. It wasn’t somewhere he’d had the chance to explore yet. Judging by the amount of dust, no one else had either. 

No one but Djura, apparently, who led him to a stretch of hall that looked just like all the others. He crouched by the wall. “Come here, look at this.”

Djura’s ‘prize’ was a lamp in a small room under a hidden library, something he was very glad to see.

“How long have you known about this?”

“Not too long. Thought I’d save it for an occasion.”

He lit the lamp and the messengers came up to greet him as they always did. One, he noticed, had a small bracelet, and waved at Djura. 

Djura waved back. “Hello there.” 

“Do you mind if I…”

“Go ahead.” Djura sat down on the bed to wait. 

It was just as he remembered it. The Doll smiled warmly and stepped out of the flower bed, where she had been tending to a patch of flowers. 

“Welcome home, Good Hunter.”

“Hello. Sorry it’s been a while.” It had been a long couple of months -- it was good to be back.

He shuffled through his usual checklist in the Dream. Weapons repaired and sharpened, check. Blood vials restocked, check. The messengers in the bath had a few things to offer him, and he replenished his stocks before he returned to Thedas.

“Feeling better?”

“Much.” It was a relief to have a lamp that wasn’t a perilous week’s travel through the mountains from here. 

“Good, good. You seem much more relaxed, how long were you there?”

“Maybe an hour? Two? Not terribly long. It’s always nice to talk with the Doll, though.” 

The retired Hunter nodded. “I can’t remember much of the Dream now, but it always was rather calming, wasn’t it? Now, if you’ve nothing else to do, I believe Sera was looking for you. She was quite insistent.”

~~~~~~~

“Inquisitor of the people, they’re saying.” It was what he’d said up on the stairs, that he would stand for the people. Sera grinned at newly-crowned Inquisitor from her mountain of stolen pillows. She’d thought he might say it was for order, or revenge even, but he hadn’t. “Good on you!”

“It’s going to take some getting used to, that’s for sure.” Sukest had come upstairs to avoid the crowd while he ate. The tavern was packed right now, but Sera had staked her claim on a second floor room early on and strongly resisted any attempts to evict her.

She’d even been able to start decorating. Lady Montilyet knew her stuff. The roads were a work in progress, but they were progressing fast. They had suppliers now too, ones that delivered on time and brought what they needed. 

“So, what are you going to do? You’ve got a castle, now what?”

“Good question. The goal is Corypheus, but we don’t have any leads. There are some scouts missing in Ferelden, so we might go looking for those sometime soon. We can’t do much right now because we don’t have the supplies, but they’re working on that.”

“I’ve seen. They’ve got all kinds of things coming in. How are you adjusting? From the chopping block to Inquisitor, yeah?”

“It’s… certainly something. It’ll be awhile before I’m used to it, that’s for sure.”

“I’ll bet. You’ve got your feathers all fixed up — gave a few people a shock to see it again, especially up on the steps.”

“It’s nice to have it back. Fits better than the other set and it’s warmer, too.” He brushed his fingers over the cloth feathers. He cared about it for more that what it did, that was for sure.

“I’ll bet. It looks fancier than the other coat, with all the buttons and everything. Like formal wear or something.”

“Works in combat well enough.”

“And for sneaking around, I’d bet. The cape breaks up your shape, makes you stand out less in the dark. All that swish is good for that.”

“It might.” He sat back into some of the silk cushions she’d gathered. For someone who said he didn’t need much, he really liked nice things. “So, what are your plans? You have Jenny stuff, don’t you?”

“Some, but not too much. I’ve had a few friends come by, sent and gotten a couple messages. I haven’t missed terribly much. I’m in a good spot, though. No one's calling for me, if that’s what you’re asking. I’m set to stay here and keep pestering you.”

He laughed. “Glad to hear it.”

~~~~~~~

They’d decided, the four of them, to keep the Hunter’s memory a secret. It was, as he’d said, too late to back out now. If they came forward the Inquisition might never recover. 

That decision didn’t keep him from feeling like a fraud as he was declared Inquisitor, or protected him from the guilt of lying to the rest of his inner circle, but there wasn’t much he could do about that. It was his own fault he was in this mess, he would just have to deal with it. 

It didn’t stop him from thinking about it when he took Cassandra up on her offer to explain the Chant of Light and the Chantry, but it did keep him from spilling everything then and there. 

“So the Chant of Light is the word of the Maker, written by his wife and prophet Andraste.”

“Yes.”

“The Maker turned his back on the world after Tevinter Magisters entered the fade, creating the first Blight.”

“Yes.”

“The Chantry spreads the Chant in an attempt to gain the Maker’s forgiveness.”

“To put it simply, yes.”

“And now I’m the most recent prophet.” And he’d thought the religions of his homeland were strange. 

“Many believe so.”

“And the Chantry believes magic is evil because…?”

Cassandra sighed and leaned back in the cobbled-together pew. They’d commandeered the small chapel for the Hunter’s lesson on religion. “Magic is not evil, it is a tool. It exists to serve man, but never to rule over him, as the Chant says. It is simple fear that makes us read too deeply into those words."”

“So just the blood magic is bad?”

“Blood magic is as unique as it is terrible. Not all magic is the same, and there are many schools of study that I do not know. That is a lesson for another time.. Other schools of study do not draw on the mind of a mage as blood magic does. I have seen it firsthand, and it is as powerful as it is terrible. We have seen atrocities excused, and minds taken over completely by demons or need for more power. A single maleficar may lay waste to towns and cities alike, even if casting with good intentions. Some say now that blood magic is dangerous because it is forbidden…” Cassandra turned her eyes on the statue of Andraste, as though the statue could help her explain. “But nothing else corrupts as blood magic can, and no other magic is so powerful as to cost a caster even their own mind. They become easy to possess, and easier to corrupt without even them noticing the change until it is too late.”

“If I am one of them as you fear, does that make me more susceptible to demons?”

“Solas says that your marks are not blood magic, and Djura agrees. I will not pretend to understand what the marks mean, but I trust even an apostate would not lie about something so essential.”

“Good to know I probably won’t get possessed in my sleep. That would put a bit of a damper on things, wouldn’t it?”

She snorted, trying not to laugh outright. “That seems inadequate, but yes..”

“So the Templars keep the Mages in check, and the Chantry keeps the Templars in check. Who keeps track of the Chantry?”

Cassandra sighed. “The Seekers of Truth oversee the Templars.”

“But the Chantry controls the Lyrium.”

“They do, but they do not intervene when the Templars overstep their bounds. . The Seekers investigate abuses from the Templars, and magical misbehavior they cannot handle alone.

“I thought ‘Seeker’ was the title of an upper Templar.”

“No. The Seekers are an entirely separate organization, descended from the first Inquisition. Our founders allied with the Chantry under a contract to keep the mages under control.”

“That doesn’t seem to have gone very well.”

“No, it has not Once I hoped our separation from the Chantry was an attempt to help restore order. Now, I am not so sure.”

“You’re still here, though. I thought you were a Seeker?” Most soldiers addressed her as ‘Seeker Pentaghast’, after all.

“I left the Order when they turned from the Chantry, in the hope of reconciling our order with the Divine, Now I am no longer welcome among my brothers and sisters.”

After what the Lord Seeker had to say at Val Royeaux, she was probably right. What he hadn’t expected was her heartbroken expression, ever pointed to the statue of her prophet.“Why did you leave the Chantry, if it means so much to you?”

“I left the Chantry and the Order, but I have not stopped caring. Sometimes a bone must be broken before it can be set. The Inquisition is meant to be both a means of preservation and an agent of change. It was founded on the orders of Divine Justinia, and I intend to see it through.”

“If it was her order, shouldn’t the Chantry be backing us?”

“That,” she said dryly, “Is something I have asked myself. Most clerics in power care only for themselves -- they care nothing for the Chant’s purpose, for what it used to be and what it could be again.”

The greed of clerics was something they could certainly agree on. “What was the Chantry then, before it was… this?”

“Instead of building cathedrals and sewing gowns for the Divine, the Chantry used to use its coin feeding the poor. If we are to spread the Maker’s word across the world, we must do so with open hearts and open hands.” She stared at the altar in front of them, as cobbled together as the rest of the chapel, but done so with obvious care and reverence. If he knew anything about the faithful, it was that this would be the first thing they well and truly refurbished. 

“Do you think it can change like that? From what it is now, to a charity?” 

She scoffed at his skepticism. “I do not think it so impossible. The Chantry has many good, honest people. They just need direction and inspiration. They need to be freed from centuries of adherence to tradition and ceremony. Renewal needn’t come with chaos, but it must come.”

“Will it? What will become of the Chantry, as it stands?”

“It is…” She sighed. “Difficult to say. It has no Templars, no leadership, and any worthy candidates for the next Divine died at the Conclave. It has fallen apart when the world needed it most.” She said the last part quietly, gazing into the soft candlelight. 

He hadn’t taken her for one of the masses, still didn’t, but how could she, how could anyone devote themselves so entirely to a religion that told them they had sinned the moment they were born? That they had to carry the weight of their ancestors’ mistakes? He could stand behind the charity, the people it helped and those who helped the people, but the cause? The Hunter knew too much of churches and corruption to have faith in them.

She noticed his hesitance, but said nothing. They called a break soon after — they’d been here for quite some time now. She stayed where she was, but he went out to the adjacent gardens. Candlelight was pretty, but the number of candles heated the room quickly. 

He had just settled in the gazebo when Solas saw him and approached.

“Inquisitor. If I could have a word?”

The Hunter somehow managed not to groan. “Of course.”

Solas lowered his voice drastically when the Hunter approached. “I have a message for you.”

“From who? Leliana?” Why the secrecy?

“No. From someone I believe you have met before, though not in this world..”

The Hunter raised his eyebrows. This was a first. “Alright. What’s this message?”

“It’s from a man who calls himself Micolash. He wishes to speak with you, and says he will be where you last met. I take it you know what he means?”

He nodded slowly. Micolash… was that the Mensis guy? “Yeah. Yes. I think so? Did he have a time frame?”

“Not that he gave me. He also said you had something of his?”

Definitely the Mensis guy. The head cage was hilarious, but very impractical. The Hunter couldn’t take it seriously, much less fight in it. “I’ll see what he wants, then. Thank you, Solas.”

He’d have to go through the Dream to get back to the madman’s nightmare. Tonight should work alright, as long as he locked his door. It wouldn’t do for someone to find him missing. 

If Cassandra noticed he was distracted when he returned to the chapel, she didn’t say anything. The Hunter sat back in the pew. 

“Where were we?”

“I believe we just finished discussing the Chantry. The next choice of topic is yours.”

Alright, then. “You said the Seekers of Truth stood above the Templars, right?” When she nodded, he continued. “Who do they answer to?”

“In theory, they answer only to the Divine, but truthfully not even she controls them. They were meant to be incorruptible, above reproach. How seldom,” she added wryly, “Does reality match the ideal.”

That was something they could agree on, and he nodded in agreement before he continued. “What sets them apart from Templars? Is it a matter of rank, or skill?”

“It is not. A Templar draws their power from Lyrium, and their abilities are designed to hunt mages. A Seeker’s abilities come from ritual and years of dedicated training. We cannot be possessed by demons, and are immune to mind control.”

“I image that comes in handy, given your line of work. What else can Seekers do?”

“That depends on the individual. Some receive different gifts than others.”

“Yours is setting Lyrium on fire, right? I’ve seen you do it.”

“It is. I can set the Lyrium in ones blood aflame. Both mages and Templars alike bend to my will. Some use it to interrogate, others use it to simply paralyze. Once there was a Seeker who could use it to kill. That particular gift is considered rare.”

“Where do your abilities come from? You said ritual and training, but how do you become a Seeker?”

“Most start young. I was an exception, due to my noble birth.” She said it with distaste, as though it were a stain rather than a circumstance. “We undergo years of rigorous training. Our minds and bodies must be elastic for the Vigil, and most fail even then.”

“What is this Vigil?”

“The Vigil is the right Seekers must go through to summon their gifts. A full year of fasting, prayer, and separation from all distraction, including other people. We empty ourselves of all emotion and focus only the purity of our devotion. The moment it finally ends is wonderful. Faith realized,” she said quietly, almost reverently. “I cannot put it into words. I do not fully understand the process, but were it not so arduous, I would suggest more attempt it. What if mages need never fear possession by demons?” She sighed and stared at the altar flames. “I am told it is impossible.”

He wasn’t quite sure what to think about that. A year of isolation in the name of faith? That was something he would never understand. Yet this faith granted something tangible, abilities beyond what any could do without Lyrium. How? Could there be something to this religion after all? Some being with the power to grant these ‘gifts’?

But then, his runes gave him power, and they were supposedly from the Great Ones the Healing Church followed. Was this Maker a Great One, playing some game with the people of Thedas? It wasn’t a question he could investigate at the moment, at any rate. Perhaps one day he would find out.  
~~~~~~~

Solas picked his way through a far upper reach of the fade. Around his neck was the small, round silver pendant. The engravings were of unquestionable quality, though the life-like glass eye in the center sent chills through him when he looked at it for too long. To find his way back to the nightmare, Micolash had said when he’d given it to the mage. 

A single thread stretched from the pendant through the fade in front of him, but it was more than enough to guide him back. It pulled him this time to a library, cobwebbed and dust covered. Micolash stood nearby, reading from an ancient tome. He looked up when he heard the mage arrive. 

“Ah, you have returned.” He closed the book and set it back on the shelf. “The pendant functions well enough?”

“It does indeed.”

“Excellent. Come then, walk with me.”

The library was in a state of disarray. Books and loose pages littered the floor, held by cobwebs and what Solas thought for a moment to be eyes. They littered the walls, ceiling, floor, and bookshelves, ranging from the size of a pebble to that of a small melon. 

He realized after he saw several with thin, dark, delicate legs protruding from them that they were eggs. Spider eggs, if the number of legs was to be trusted. He wasn’t entirely sure that was better than eyes. At least none of them were moving. 

Micolash stepped over and around the debris without even a glance. How long had he walked these ancient halls? He led the mage up a tall spiral staircase. Halfway up, something in the air shifted. A strange pressure filled the air, some unknown presence. 

“Ah, our guest arrives.” He grinned and continued up the stairs. 

They met the Inquisitor once they’d climbed a long spiral staircase and crossed a few halls. He’d worn his crow regalia, the closest thing he had to a uniform, and held his Saif in his right hand. His firearm was strapped to his hip, but Solas knew from experience it would be deceptively easy ro retrieve despite the straps holding the ridged tube in place. 

How had he gotten here? He had still been in the tavern when Solas had gone to sleep, and that could only have been a half hour ago at most. The presence he gave off was strange as well, solid and unwavering, focused in a way that things in the fade weren’t. 

Micolash gave him a polite bow. “Welcome, Hunter, welcome. Thank you for coming.”

He didn’t remove his mask, but inclined his head. “Micolash, of a title I don’t know. What is this about?”

If their host was bothered, he didn’t show it. “I have a proposition for you. I understand that Corypheus is your newest quarry?”

“He is.” 

“Then I wish to give my aid.”

For a moment, the Inquisitor said nothing. And then, “Why?”

“He calls himself a god and thinks himself worthy of ascension. I know that I myself recently suffered this delusion, but if this pretender were to succeed with his plans, he would be wholly unsuitable as a god.” Micolash clasped his hands in a pleading gesture. “So please, Hunter, accept my aid. I know of his plans, his powers. Damian told me of the fate of the Choir’s puppeteer, of her dying screams beneath the cathedral. I know you to be a formidable foe, more than a match for this pretender.”

“You offer information, but what do you ask in return? You remain here, where Corypheus cannot reach you — why do you care?”

“Oh, do you think me so heartless? I suppose you know nothing else, and you are not entirely wrong. See, you have something of mine, and I would very much like to have it back.”

The Inquisitor was still for a moment, then held his hands in front of him and conjured... something. It looked like a tall cage without a floor and had a rectangular gap between the bars near the bottom. 

Micolash grinned widely. “Excellent!”

“Have you any other conditions?”

“I would be most indebted to you if you could recover my body in the waking world, but I understand if that is not possible.”

The crow considered the scholar for a moment. “... very well.”

He took several steps forwards and offered Micolash the cage, who happily took it. He hugged the heavy iron cage to his chest with both arms. “Thank you, kind Hunter, first of your kin. Follow me, if you would.”

He led them through the twisting halls of the library and across a great iron bridge. It rattled slightly when he stepped on it, but remained stable. At the other end of the bridge was one of those odd purple lamps. 

The floor around it shimmered and boiled as usual, but when the Inquisitor approached something emerged from the ground. Djura had called them messengers, hadn’t he? Had they led the Inquisitor here?

Micolash continued past it, out of an arched door. The sky was dark and clouded, the moon on the other side of the tower. He led them up past old, warped trees and fallen leaves, so what looked like a chunk of an old, old city. 

The floor tiles were cracked and faded under the light of the moon, pale flowering grass growing between them. The buildings stood tall, architecture ornate and foreign, stacked in a way that almost reminded him of a thaig. Were they not in the fade, he would wonder how they stood. Even in its crumbling and dilapidated state, this ancient plaza was awe-inspiring.

There was a door hidden out of sight, tucked into a corner between two of the buildings. It was dark, and blended into its surroundings almost perfectly. Had he not been led to it, he would not have seen it at all. The scholar opened the carved wood and metal door into what looked like a sitting room.

Old but well-kept furniture cluttered the room, lit by a few candles and a window facing the moon. There was a carved stone hearth, unlit for the moment, but with a log in place. There were more bookshelves here, but unlike the library downstairs, these were clean of cobwebs. This space seemed lived in, unlike the library below them.

“Please, make yourselves at home. I’ll just be a moment.” Micolash vanished up a narrow staircase down a short hall, leaving them to their own devices. 

They stood in silence for a few moments. 

The Inquisitor fidgeted awkwardly. “So, how did you two meet?”

“I felt Micolash’s influence on the veil as I slept, and followed it here. How have you come here?”

“Hmm. You know how I can… you call it conjuration, and I don’t have a name for it, so let’s go with that. How I can conjure things?”

Solas nodded. 

“I can go there, to where I put things. That place connects to here.”

“How to you return? Can you move back and forth as you please?”

He laughed. “If only. Things would be so much easier if I could. You saw that lamp on the way here, with the bells? I can use those to move back and forth.”

Micolash’s return prevented further questioning. The mage would have to ask his questions when he woke. “Here you are.”

He handed the Inquisitor two things, a folder bound carefully with thin rope to keep its contents in place, and a simple leatherbound book. The crow turned them over in his hands. 

“A measure of Corypheus’s plans. I will continue to gather what I can from here — many of his followers dream clearly, and are surprisingly willing to share answers with strangers.”

He turned then to Solas. “And thank you for delivering my message. This is for you.”

From a pocket he procured a small book and an engraved bracelet with a matching ring, connected by a fine chain. “I believe you will find these interesting indeed. A work of the late scribe Caryll, and small trinket made with their work in mind.”

“Thank you.” He had not expected compensation, but it would be rude to decline such a gift. The small bracelet nearly hummed at his touch, etchings nearly itching beneath his fingers.

The Inquisitor’s mask hid his expression, but the way he shuffled gave him away. He really wasn’t used to polite social encounters at all. Luckily for him, Solas was.

“The hour draws late. It may be best if we retire.”

“Of course. Should you wish to return, you are always welcome here.”

Solas walked with the Inquisitor back to the lamp. The crow paused just in front of it and turned back to face the mage. 

“How are we going to explain this to Leliana?”

That was an excellent question. “It may be easier to explain this in full than to try and dismiss it.”

“Fair enough. I’ll see you in the morning, then.”

That was the last thing he said before he knelt by the lamp with a small wave and turned to ash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lmao my beta tester threatened to beat me with a book of syntax. Thank her for my drastic improvement in quality that happened about fifteen chapters ago. She’s here as ChrysaoraAdora, if y’all are interested.


	41. Hello

The spymaster was far from amused when they presented the folder to her the next morning. It didn’t help that the Hunter knew next to nothing about how his abilities functioned, and thus couldn’t fully explain them.

Leliana massaged her temples, the pointed at the folder and journal. “This came from something you met in the Fade. Something that you,” she said to Solas, “met only a few nights ago, and appears to be someone that you,” she said, turned now to the Hunter, “killed months ago.”

“Yes.”

She didn’t look too pleased with his answer. “There is much to discuss here, but the most concerning thing is that you were able to bring this here from the Fade in a physical form. How did this come across the veil?”

The Hunter looked at the ground, and was about to start what was sure to be a long and painful explanation, but Solas beat him to it.

“I have a few theories on the topic, but none are particularly pleasant.”

The spymaster motioned for him to continue.

“In the early days of the Inquisition, I walked the Inquisitor’s dreams in an attempt to gather information on his past. Even in cases of amnesia, memories may only be blocked, not truly lost, and may still be accessible in this manner. I have done so only twice, with unsettling results each time.”

Alright, that was… well. He wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that.

“I offer my apologies for not seeking permission beforehand — time was of the essence.”

“It’s alright.” He wasn’t entirely sure it was, but there would be nothing gained from objecting. It was odd and unsettling, to think that someone could sift through his memories without him ever knowing.

“The first time, I found what I thought to be a distorted forest or a bog, full-” he broke off. “The details are of little import. I found a creature there, that was… was able to injure me as I dreamt. When I awoke, the wounds remained.”

Leliana’s face was shifting from annoyance towards concern. “I have seen mages enter the fade, in rituals and while dreaming, but for a wound to carry over physically…”

Solas slid one shoulder of his robes down, revealing thin, claw-shaped scars, as though something had grabbed him by the shoulders, and he had pulled himself back. The Hunter’s breath caught in his throat. He only knew one thing that made fine, tidy marks like that, and he never wanted to face one again. 

“The injuries,” he said, pulling his robe back up. “resisted magical healing, but whether that is due to their origin across the Veil or the creature itself, I cannot say.”

Leliana noticed his expression. “Is this a creature you recognize?”

“I… they…” The words caught in his throat.

Solas studied him carefully. “As I dreamt, I could in part feel as you did. For all the creatures I found, only this one gave you pause.”

Gave him pause, sure. That was a nice way to say that they terrified him. “I don’t… don’t know what they are, where they come from. I’ve only ever seen a few.”

“Have you any drawings of them?”

“No. No, I… The best way I’ve found to deal with them is to avoid them entirely. They can do things to you, to your mind, to your blood. I’ve never stuck around long enough to even get a clear view.”

“To your blood? What can they do, exactly?”

Cole startled them all. “Bubbles and bursts, sharp shafts and a ringing fear. Echoes and remnants, better left unseen, that song, that damnable song, better left unheard.”

The spirit stared at the Hunter as he spoke, not quite at him, but into him.

“Forgotten, abandoned, cast away. Why do they sing, why do they hurt? The things they whisper, that awful, curdled ringing, why? Always at the worst times, and as bad as…” he stopped as confusion crossed his face.

The Hunter took a few careful breaths to calm his racing heart. Nothing had startled him like that in a long time. His Saif was in his hand, raised as if to strike, though he didn’t remember calling for it. He lowered his arm and dismissed the weapon.

Solas took a steadying breath as Leliana straightened her robes. She’d been as startled as he was, if not more, which made him feel a little better. Still, he was getting rusty.

“Cole.” The spirit looked to the mage as he spoke. “What are you doing here?”

“They hurt. Little lanterns of pain and anguish, cast-off copies of something half remembered. They aren’t like she is, they can’t be, but all they can do is try to be.”

“Are they spirits?” Leliana was still trying to play off her surprise, though no one was fooled. 

“No, and yes. They’re angry and sad and hungry and lost. They have no purpose, they don’t want to come here, or to stay, or to do anything at all. They only want, want and wander.”

The Hunter shuddered. “I’ve only seen them a few times. Solas, the place you dreamt of — describe it.”

“A mass of swirled stone, covered in dead trees and gravestones. There was an odd pale flowering grass, a kind I have seen only in your dreams and with Micolash. Halfway through I found a large pit of muck and odd, pale creatures that resides there. I thought it to be a partially remembered forest.”

“It’s not. If you went where I’m thinking of, it actually looks like that.”

“And you access it in the same manner as Micolash’s tower?”

“Yeah.”

“And what manner,” asked Leliana, “might that be?”

“The thing I can do that you call conjuration — we don’t call it that,” He explained at the questioning look she gave him. “I don’t know if it has a name, but the things I pick up go somewhere. I can go there, too.”

“How? Can you simply… vanish? And how do you return?”

“There are lamps — about waist-height, bells on the top, Solas you’ve seen one — that I can use as a sort of gateway there and back.”

“There is one here?”

“In the tunnels beneath the keep — Djura found it and showed me where it was just a few days ago.”

She thought for a moment. “There was one at Haven as well?”

“In the attic.”

“If they are here, it stands to reason that they are also in the city from whence you came. Is that true?”

Of course she would connect the dots, it was foolish to hope otherwise. He might as well come clean. “Yes.”

“And you have not returned?”

“Once, I did.”

She raised her eyebrows. “And?” 

“There’s nothing left there but beasts. I initially went in looking for Djura, actually. I’d thought he might know what was going on. When I couldn’t find him, I went looking for others, but found no one else.”

“Was this the day you vanished?” She asked suddenly. “When no one could find you, but you came out of the basement?”

“It was. I hadn’t realized how long I’d been gone. Actually, I wasn’t sure time would pass at all.”

“Why wouldn’t it?” She looked at him with unmasked confusion. 

“The red moon is still high. The sun hadn’t risen over Yharnam in weeks before I’d come here. It’s been months now, with no sign of the Hunt ending. I wasn’t sure time was still moving — the streets never seem to change.”

It took her a moment to process that. 

“Cold and cramped, the cobbled streets always smell of fire and death,” said the spirit. “The buildings should rot — the streets are slick and no one fixes anything — why are the walls still so strong? The beasts never thin, but from where have they come?”

“Thank you, Cole.” Truly, what he needed was someone to spout out his thoughts. The Hunter sighed. “There’s nothing left in the city for me. I’ve scoured the streets and searched the forest, but there’s nothing and no one there.”

“So you stayed.” Leliana watched him for a moment. “If you had found your answers there, finished your hunt, would you have come back to Thedas?”

“I…” he wasn’t sure. “I don’t know.”

“Why did you become a Hunter?”

“Hmm?” He hadn’t expected the sudden change of subject.

“What took you to Yharnam? Djura said you’re from a place called Vinheim, but Yharnam is in Carim. Why did you go?”

“For healing.”

“From what?”

“From… I’ve heard a few names for it. Tired blood, the physicians told me. A rather serious case. Do you have that here?”

“We do,” said Solas. “Though it isn’t very common.”

“It’s not common where I’m from either. I tried temples first — went for healing, but all they could do was pray and wave their talismans. A traveling physician told me to go to Yharnam and ask about paleblood.”

“And they were able to treat you?”

“They were. I went for a transfusion. I was ministered without a problem, but when I woke, the clinic was empty and the Hunt had begun.”

“How long ago was this?”

“Not counting my time in Thedas? A few weeks, maybe?”

“Is that all?” Leliana’s mask slipped for a moment in raw surprise. “A few weeks, to go from a patient to a Hunter?”

“I think it was the transfusion. I didn’t have any money, couldn’t pay for the treatment, so I signed a contract for service. It didn’t specify what service I would perform, but at the time I didn’t care. I guess it was Hunting.”

“If the Hunt had begun when you woke,” asked Solas, “how did you become a Hunter? Did you enter under… Eileen, her name was?”

“Kind of? I just walked out of the clinic. There were beasts all over the streets already, I just picked up a weapon. Felt as though I’d fought with it my entire life.” He’d died first, but they didn’t need to know that. That was something he felt he should keep to himself. Leliana was already suspending so much disbelief. He worried that knowledge would be the turning point.

“So you just… learned as you went?”

“Pretty much. Eileen was the first Hunter I met, but I didn’t join her Hunt until much later.”

“How did you survive?”

“Broke into a lot of houses for food and water. Spent a lot of time recovering.”

“Are there safe places in the city?”

“Any place is safe enough once you’ve cleared it, but they don’t always stay that way. I used the lamps to find a few defensible spots, but I’m not a fan of having a scourge beast jump in though the window while I’m sleeping.” It had happened once and only once. He’d slept in the Dream after that. 

“I suppose that explains your condition when you first arrived.” The spymaster watched him with a small smile. 

“My… condition?”

“When you first arrived you looked terrible.”

“Did I?” He could hardly remember what he looked like at the time. 

“As though you hadn’t slept in days, and like you hadn’t eaten in a week.”

Both were probably true when he arrived. Blood was as filling as actual food, and three times as common. 

“These days you nearly look healthy. Still a bit thin, perhaps, but not malnourished as you used to be.”

“Food’s hard to come across in Yharnam. A few times I had to break down the doors to a few houses looking for some. They were abandoned, thankfully, but it was too much trouble to do multiple times a day. Well. Not day, but you get what I mean.”

“I do.” She paused. “How did you survive? Right off the streets, into this Hunt.”

“It helped that I used to be a game hunter. I couldn’t do much, but I could camp in trees with a bow and arrow. I would down something, and then get someone to help me drag it back. I already knew how to cut and clean meat, that helped a lot.”

“Is there much game near Yharnam? You mentioned a forest.”

“Not much there but snakes and huntsmen. The civilians help with the Hunt, you see. Not very successfully, but they try. No, the only game you’ll find in Yharnam are the scourge beasts.”

“The… the beasts?”

“Yeah. Tough, but kind of sweet, actually. If you take the right cuts then they’re… are you alright?”

Solas had gone terribly pale, and looked rather like he was about to be sick. 

“Solas?”

“You ate the beasts, though they used to be human?” 

He shrugged. “Used to be. They don’t seem to care much about eating one another, I don’t see why I should.”

Even Leliana seemed apprehensive now. “And before that?”

“Hmm?”

“Before they turn. Would you still…”

“I try to avoid it. With so many beasts around it rarely came to that. I was hardly the only one, though the last man I met was terribly sick. I sent him to a clinic, but…”

Leliana sat quietly, her eyes closed for a moment. When she opened them, they were full of resolve. “No one can ever know.”

“You don’t say?”

“I mean it,” she said sharply. “I cannot imagine how the people would face that knowledge. A cannibalistic Inquisitor, an elf no less. It is every unsavory story of the Dalish become true.

“It’s not exactly a common talking point.”

She looked at him with a question in her eyes, one she didn’t want to ask but badly needed to.

“Before you ask, no, I didn’t eat anyone on the way here from Haven. Things weren’t that desperate.”

Were she anyone else, she would have sagged in relief. “That is good to know.”

He settled down to brace himself for the next round of questions. These people really were soft, weren’t they? Somehow he always managed to forget. These peiple wouldn’t last a week in that scourged city.

~~~~~~~

“Inquisitor!”

Josephine, clipboard in hand, caught up him in the main hall. 

He gave the ambassador a polite bow. “Josephine. What can I do for you?”

“Cullen wanted to announce something — we’re to meet in the war room.”

“Alright, then.”

It wasn’t far from the great hall, but there were a deceptive number of doors between here and there. By the time they arrived, Cullen and Leliana were already there. 

Cullen turned when they walked in. “Inquisitor, it’s good to see you.”

The man had bags under his eyes and looked exhausted, ready to collapse, but he smiled at the Hunter nonetheless.

“Cullen. Is everything alright?”

The man sighed. “For the most part. We’ll get to that soon.”

He’d meant personally, but alright. Was the man sick? He looked terrible. 

“First,” said Josephine with a smile, some good news. Our supply lines are progressing faster than I imagined. We have everything we need now to move forwards. All we need now is an objective.”

“One of my sources,” said Leliana, “has come forward with some promising information on our enemy’s plans. I have people working on deciphering it as we speak.”

The notes were not in code, but it may have been easier to understand them if they were. Micolash May have been a scholar, even a Headmaster, but his handwriting left much to be desired. 

Cullen seemed surprised. “When did that happen?”

“Only a few nights ago. As soon as we have a clear understanding of the material, I will come forwards with it.”

“So what’s gone wrong?” They all turned to the Hunter as he spoke. “This is an awful lot of good news without anything bad. Seems unusual for us.”

The commander sighed. “It would be, I agree. We’ve lost contact with a patrol of scouts in southern Fereldan. It isn’t too strange for a patrol to come in late, but they’ve been gone for quite some time.”

“How long?”

“Two weeks.” Leliana grimaced. “If it were a smaller group I would write them off as dead, but a patrol of twenty men does not simply vanish.”

Twenty? “What are our plans?”

“To send a group to investigate.” Cullen gave the spymaster a sharp look as he spoke. “I have good men in that patrol, and I’d like them to return safely.”

“Unfortunately,” The ambassador interjected. “Much of the region is uncharted. It will be difficult to navigate at all, let alone to find this patrol.”

“I’ll go,” said the Hunter. It would be fantastic to get out of here for a while. It had been too long since he’d been out and about. 

Leliana laughed softly. “I knew you would say that.”

“We can send you out in three days,” said Josephine with a smile. “Pick who you want to take — I only have one request.”

“And that is?”

“Please take your friend, Sera, with you. If she keeps harassing the kitchens we’ll need to find a new head cook, and I rather like the one we have.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Filler chapter, but soon things will happen :D


	42. New place new experience

This place, Sera had decided, really did deserve its name. ‘The Fallow Mire’, her friends had called it. They were absolutely right. The swamp around the road stank. Usually she hated traveling in the rain, but at least now it kept her cool and helped keep the horse-smell down. 

Sukest swapped his bird cloak for his leather coat, and offered her a spare he had tucked away. She took it happily. It was warm and dry, if a bit loose, and was much better than the stiff cloak someone handed off to her before they split. Inquisitor ought to do something about that, she thought. Soldiering about was probably shite enough without itchy cloaks and shoes that didn’t fit.

The trip had been decent until they’d gotten to the swamp that morning. It rained the day before, but only a bit. Now it was a downpour. At least they’d be at the camp by noon, if the scout Leliana sent to guide them was right. 

It was a small group. She and Sukest of course, along with the egg and Blackwall. Cassandra had to stay back for something or another, but hadn’t been happy about it. She and Leliana had fussed a lot last week, avoided each other like a fighting couple. She’d have to figure out what it was about when she got back if her friends hadn’t already. 

Their group of five didn’t bring much highway attention, not that there were many people to alert. There weren’t a lot of people in this sodden little corner of the world. A couple little villages, and two lone roadside inns were the only evidence anybody ever lived here at all.

One little inn came up an hour after dark and they took it gladly. The other they two days later off on a back road they’d turned on to avoid a passing caravan. They stopped early that night and spent the afternoon roaming. It had still been forest up there, not swamp yet. 

Now they were making up lost time. It wasn’t so bad. Better to ride through this weather than to slog through swamp water in it. That was the best plan they had, according to their guide — comb the swamp and hope they found something. 

Sounded nuts to her, but Sukest was thrilled. He hadn’t said it, but he was raring to go. Might’ve just been his horse, though. He’d wound up with the nervous one, which was funny because he was the most nervous around the horses. 

They were weird, he said. Unnerved him. She didn’t get it, but alright. He seemed to be getting on well enough now, but there at the beginning he’d almost gotten kicked off a few times. It was almost funny the second time it happened once he’d been alright the first time, and the third time it was hilarious. It had yet to happen a fourth, but there was still time. But then, it probably wouldn’t be good if he actually got hurt. Better not spook the horse, then. 

It took longer than she liked, and felt like longer than it really was. The camp they arrived at was sparsely populated. Just a few scouts and soldiers. Harding was there to greet them when they arrived. 

“Boy am I glad to see you, Inquisitor. Maybe you can sort out this mess.”

He clambered off the horse. “Good to see you too, Scout Harding. What’s going on here?”

Sera skipped off. She didn’t need to be there for the run-down, and she would much rather see what the camp had to offer than stand through all that chat. Sukest would find her when she was wanted, or when she made too much excitement with the scouts, whichever came first.. 

~~~~~~~

“The patrol was captured by a group of Avvar, barbarous mountain folk. Their leader wants to fight you.”

The Hunter sighed. “Of course he does. Alright, where is he?”

“In a keep, across the mire. I would say they’re having almost as much trouble with the undead as we are, and wanted somewhere defensible. They’re expecting you, but I doubt they’ll make it easy.”

“When has anything ever been easy? There’s an undead problem, you said?”

“There is. A plague hit this place a while back and it never recovered, and now the corpses are walking again. Usually we don’t have much trouble, but occasionally-“ She was cut off by a shrill shriek that echoed through the camp. 

He hadn’t even known Sera could make a noise like that. She wasn’t far, thankfully, just at the edge of the camp. A slimy, rotted hand had reached out of the water while she wasn’t looking and grabbed her ankle. 

The undead now had an arrow in its skull, and Sera had scrambled back, streaming curses as she went. She was still streaming curses, but slightly quieter now. 

The water was quiet except for the sound of the rain, but it likely had been before the corpse emerged. There could be dozens more just under the dark surface and he would be none the wiser. Corpses didn’t have heartbeats, either. At least they were weak. 

“Are you alright?”

“Shite friggin slimy-“

“Maker’s balls.” Blackwall dropped his shield from his defensive stance. “I thought somebody was dying.”

“Oh, shut it! It friggin startled me!”

“We know.” The Hunter grinned. “We all know.”

Sera groaned and picked up her bow from where she’d dropped it. “Shut it. Are we going or not?”

They were going. The fort the Avvar had taken wasn’t terribly far, but the swamp would make getting there a bit difficult. Once there had been rough wooden bridges across the water, but most were rotted through and half-submerged. 

Sera stopped at the end of a sturdier pier. “So now what? They’re across this, yeah? How are we getting there?”

The Hunter called the Saif and extended the blade, then pushed it down into the water. It would only come up to his mid-thighs at worst. Of course, two feet away it could be a half-dozen feet deep, but it might not be. It would be best to store the Evelyn in the Dream to keep it dry and functioning. 

He stepped off the dock into the water and knew instantly that no amount of waterproofing could save him now. Ah well, they had to get across somehow. 

Sera stared down at him. “You can’t be serious.”

“I don’t have a boat on me, do you?”

Blackwall stifled a laugh. “That’s one way, I suppose.” He stepped down into the water and only grimaced a little at the cold, slick feeling the dark water carried. 

Solas drummed his fingers on his staff for a moment. After a moment, he tapped the end solidly on the ground and vanished in a flash of white and blue. The light streamed across the water, and he reappeared a dozen feet away on the next piece of semi-dry land. 

Sera looked between the three of them. “Shite, I’d hoped it was just you.” She stepped into the water after him, but didn’t look terribly happy about it. 

Five feet later the Hunter felt something brush his leg and stabbed down, then swung up and out to see what he’d speared. Another undead, it would seem. 

“They have quite the smell, don’t they?” It feebly reached for him, legs hanging slack, but the Saif was considerably longer than its arms. 

“Eww, put it down!” Sera hid behind Blackwall and wrinkled her nose. “It’s all slimy and gross!”

“You sure?” He pushed it towards her slightly and she jumped back. “I don’t know, I think the two of you could get along.”

Solas crossed his arms. “Recall that we do have places to be.”

He rolled his eyes and dropped it, though he made sure to finish it off. They were quite common, it turned out. Ever few feet one would brush them, or something would stand up and shamble through the water towards them. 

If he had to guess, he’d say they could feel the disturbance in the water. Sometimes more than one came up, but they were all easy to put right back down. It wasn’t as bad here as he’d expected, actually.

He alone held that opinion — Blackwall carried it well, but clearly didn’t want to be here. Sera made her displeasure known loudly and frequently, sometimes physically. Solas warped between the pieces of land whenever the rest of the group caught up with him. He stayed in sight and launched spells at approaching corpses, but kept his distance. 

It was a good twenty minutes before they found a path. It was surprisingly well-kept, considering its surroundings. The short packed dirt path had low carved stone walls and led up a small hill, to some kind of pillar. It was made of pale stone, but seemed unweathered compared to the surrounding fixtures. 

One side held an empty fire-basket, while the other had a black slate with a deep green rune on it. 

“What is this?” He hadn’t asked anyone in particular, but correctly expected Solas to answer. 

The mage brushed his fingers over the basket and it lit with a bright green flame despite the heavy rain. The top of the pillar burst with the same light as he did so, and so did his mark, to a smaller degree. “Veilfire. I have heard of it, but never seen it. It has a variety of uses, though it is odd to find it in a place like this.”

“And this?” The Hunter brushed his fingers over the rune and was taken aback by the sudden rush of powerful emotions that were decidedly not his. 

Paranoia, panic, and a sense of time and a problem to be solved. A code and equations and if I could just solve this-

He jerked his hand away as though he’d been burned. 

“A veilfire rune, only visible in the presence of the fire. It can be used to transfer information, often in the form of emotions or even memories. Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I-“ 

He was interrupted by the sound of moving water and Sera’s shriek. An undead came up out of the water, followed by another, and then another. He could hear more climbing up on the other side of the hill. 

“Maker’s balls,” said Blackwall. That summarized things quite nicely. 

“Friggin shite!” That worked too. 

Solas started firing spells. Their attackers were deceptively quick once they were out of the water, and there were more here than any of them had expected. Were they here for the light of the veilfire or did something else about the pillar wake them up?

The Hunter swung at the first one that reached him and cut it in half. Advancing undead could be vaguely intimidating, but so long as no one was careless they weren’t too difficult to defeat. Rotting flesh and bones were disgusting to fight, but not at all suited for combat. 

Then he heard the echoing, ethereal shriek of a demon. A terror demon, if his memory served correctly, slid through the lines of corpses to leap at him. 

He swore and slid out of the way, but the Warden next to him wasn’t so lucky. He lifted his shield to block the worst of the blow, but it still unbalanced him. These demons were unnaturally thin, but deceptively powerful. 

The Hunter cut at the demon’s legs. Distracted now from where Blackwall was recovering, it spun on him and shrieked again, power ringing in the air around it. 

He braced himself against it and drew the Evelyn from the Dream. The first shot startled it, the second drew a pained shriek, and the third knocked it to its knees. 

He’d never done this to a demon before, but there was a first time for everything. He plunged his hand into its chest and felt around for something to grab. There was less resistance than he’d expected. Past the spiny carapace, it was quite soft. 

The Anchor sparked awake as he swirled his hand around. Dim at first, then brighter as it woke. The demon screamed again as he yanked his fist out without finding anything solid to grab, but a pale light bled from the hole in its chest, then from the rest of it, too. It streamed through the air to the Anchor, still flashing green, but now with waves of dark blue and flecks of orange. 

For once it didn’t hurt, but gave off a surprisingly pleasant feeling. It didn’t compare to the rush of a proper riposte, but it was quite nice. His runes hummed with it as they did every other time he’d done this, but they didn’t hurt either despite the Anchor. 

The demon gave a last wail as it dissolved to light. The corpses stopped their advance as it faded, then collapsed, completely inanimate, when it was gone. 

For a moment, there was only heavy breathing, the sound of the rain, and the barely audible whisper of the veilfire. 

“Piss! What the shite was that?!” Sera loudly broke the silence. 

“I’m not sure, actually. I’ve never done that to a demon before.” The Anchor had calmed, but still glowed. The deep blues and oranges remained among the green. Were they there to stay? Why?

“Why did you friggin do it now?!”

“The opportunity presented itself. It got rid of the demon, didn’t it?”

“The demons gone, but your hand ate it! Ate! It! Hands aren’t meant to do that!”

“Are you alright?” Solas stepped towards him around the fallen corpses. 

“I’m fine. Hadn’t expected it to do that, but I’m not hurt or anything.”

“May I?” Solas held out his hand, palm up. 

The Hunter gave him the still glowing marked hand. “I’m not sure how long we should stay here. They all collapsed with the demon gone, but who knows if they’ll stay that way.”

Sera shivered, though it may have just been the cold. “Let’s find a better spot, yeah? Don’t really want to see if they get back up.”

“Should we do something with them?” Blackwall stared sadly down at a corpse. “It seems disrespectful to just leave them here.”

“We could ask Scout Harding when we get back? The wood around here is too wet to build a pyre with, but she might have a few ideas.”

That seemed the best thing to do. They had an actual path to follow now, at least. It dipped into the swamp sometimes, and where there had been wooden boards there was now rotten wood, but at least they weren’t going to get lost now. 

They still had to fight every so often, but the corpses were slow in the water and easy to pick off one by one, even if they happened to rise in groups. Their lack of strategy was the only thing that kept this from being challenging. 

The second pillar they found was exactly like the first, atop a small hill with a veilfire basket on one side and a rune on the other. 

“Should we light it?” He looked between Solas and the basket. “If there’s a demon here too we might be able to clear out a good chunk of the undead problem.”

“It’s certainly easier to fight on land,” Blackwall added.

“Why are we using the not-fire again? It calls demons — that’s a bad thing.”

“Or it just makes them visible. For all we know they’re here already and we just can’t see them.”

Sera glared at the Hunter, who grinned back at her. 

“You’re an ass, you know that?”

“I’ve been told.”

Solas sighed and lit the basket. 

Now that they were expecting it, it wasn’t so bad. The demon didn’t even take them by surprise this time. He let Solas and Blackwall take care of it and helped Sera keep the waves at bay until they were finished. 

For all that happened, it was only a few minutes until the undead dropped to the ground in unison, motionless. The Hunter shook the fleshy pieces off the Saif. 

Sera, bow still in hand, wrinkled her nose. “Eww, you’re covered in it!”

So he was. It was a good thing his leathers provided so much cover or it would actually be touching him. “So I am.”

“Never,” said Blackwall, nudging bodies into something resembling respectful positions with his boots, “have I seen someone fight as messily as you do. Don’t misunderstand, it gets the job done faster than anyone I’ve seen, but you’re a fright afterwards.”

He shrugged and a piece of what could have once been an arm fell from his coat to the floor with a wet schlop. And here he’d been about to say it wasn’t that bad. 

Sera gagged. “You have a bow, don’t you? Use that, you won’t get all…” She waved a hand at him.

Fair point. He swapped the Saif for the bowblade and flipped it open. 

“Every time I think you’re out of surprises you come up with something else.” Blackwall turned to Solas. “Is this normal?”

“It would seem so.” The mage seemed almost defeated by that fact. 

There was a rune here too, green lines set in a dark slate just like the last one. He ran his fingers over it carefully, expecting the odd sensation this time. 

This one was bitter, but also arrogant. How dare they reject me, reject my studies?! I’ll show them, I’ll show them all!

He pulled his hand away. A scholar or a mage, then, to have ‘studies’. 

“What’s this?” Sera crouched down in the nearby grass and came up with something in her hand. 

A battered book of some kind, with a plain leather cover. A journal of some kind? Whatever it was, it was soaked. She shoved it in her bag. No use opening it now, any remaining pages would get soaked and ruined under the rain. 

The party was looking pretty battered by now, Hunter aside, though he could feel the effects that weeks of inactivity had inflicted on him. His runes weren’t humming yet, but he could feel the beginnings of their whispers. Hopefully it wouldn’t take too long to recover. 

Blackwall looked up at the darkening clouds. “Are we going to make it today?”

Was the sun going down already? “We should. How far could we be?”

“Perhaps we should find a place to rest?” Solas watched the sky for a moment. “It won’t be long until the cold sets in for the night.”

“Ugh, lets.” Sera shivered. “It’s cold enough already.”

He knew was outvoted on this one and didn’t protest. They took shelter in an almost- circle of stones, intending to make a small camp with what they had, only the find that someone else had already done so. 

There was a fire pit with wood stacked next to it, and a small lean-to set up nearby against the stone and a gnarled tree. He nearly missed the figure half-lying in the tent. 

A soldier in Inquisition armor, injured it not seriously. His heart beat steadily, breathing was calm and slow. It was difficult to tell whether he was asleep or unconscious. 

The fire pit was built well and still warm, sheltered from the worst of the rain by the tree. The wood was wet, but Solas lit it with a wave of his hand when the Hunter stacked it on the fire. 

“He’s alright,” The Mage said quietly. “Asleep, but not deeply so. His injuries are not severe, but could become so if left untreated.”

Blackwall sat heavily by the fire, armor rattling. “Not much reason to wake him, is there?”

“Not for the time being.”

“What’s he doing out here alone? Even scouts usually travel in threes.” The Hunter leaned back against the tree. Could he have been a part of the ambushed patrol?

“Best thing to do’ll be ask him, yeah?” Sera settled near the fire, coat stretched over her head so block the rain. 

It didn’t take long for the soldier to wake. He was groggy, but once he realized he wasn’t alone, he immediately jerked awake and backpedaled, but only with one leg. The other must be injured. 

“Easy, easy.” Blackwall crouched by the man, his sword and shield left by the fire. “You’re among friends.”

It took a moment to register where he was, but he must have realized who all was gathered in a loose semicircle. The soldier nearly burst into tears. 

Blackwall clapper a hand on his shoulder. “What are you doing out here alone? Where’s your patrol?”

“Taken, ser.” His voice trembled, but he didn’t stutter. “Captured, the lot of them, by those mountain men. The others helped me slip out. I was going through the swamp to our camp, but one of the undead got my leg. It- it’s been at least a week now, a bit more.”

“Is the rest of your patrol alright?” The Hunter crouched in front of him, careful not to loom over the man.

“Last I saw, if being hostages is called ‘alright’. They’re scuffed up, but not seriously.” He looked closer at the Hunter. “Do I know you?”

“Only in passing.” He sat next to the soldier with a smile. “We’re here to free the rest of your patrol. Where are they being held?”

The soldier considered this for a moment, then realization crossed his face. He immediately fell prone into an awkward bow. “In- in a castle they took, not far from here. I can guide you. Andraste bless you, Herald.”

The Hunter stifled his sigh. This was going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a twitter now that Tumblr's sunk, Find me on there as @astrumOpifex.   
> Discord chat for this is over at https://discord.gg/Zu7Qn3y  
> Feel free to drop by for questions/comments/concerns :3  
> Thanks for reading, hope you liked it :D


	43. how many perspectives can one chapter hold~

Your name is Alfred, and you are completely and utterly lost. At least in harnam you knew your way around — out here, it’s all trees, fields, and small villages. There are precious few cities in this new and strange world, but they are nothing like the ones you know and miss so terribly. 

You crossed paths with a few other Hunters a while back, perhaps a week ago, traveling from one city to another, but they didn’t know then any more than you do now about what happened. Unlike you, they didn’t seem to care what exactly transpired. Though they did have a different purpose in their Hunt, they mustn't return to Yharnam nearly as urgently as your own Hunt requires.

You’ve been here far too long already. Months have come and gone by as you searched. The journey here from the city was quite jarring for you. Admittedly it’s quite nice here, but enjoying the surroundings doesn’t make you any less lost nor any closer to your goal. 

There is a mission to complete, after all, an oath to honor. For that, you need to find your way back to that blasted castle. Wherever it is, you are most certainly further from that goal than you’ve ever been before. 

All is not lost, though. Your dear friend Sukest is around here somewhere, and making quite the name for himself. He helped you search for a way to Cainhurst before. Perhaps he would still be willing to help now?

There’s only one way to find out! But you will, of course, have to find him first. Dear Sukest is the Inquisitor, the villagers say, occupying a castle in the mountains to the west and doing...whatever it is the job entails. What exactly an Inquisitor does, you don’t know. You’ve been going west, but Fereldan is a bigger country than you’re used to and lacking in roads or any kind of signage. It doesn’t help that you arrived to the east, near the city of Denerim, though you didn’t even know there was a city so close at the time.

The roads are dangerous these days, as the villagers say. Demons and cutthroats lurk around every corner. This is, at least for a wandering Executioner such as yourself, splendid news! Most people are willing to spare a meal and a bed for the night to someone who can help them clear out the surrounding area. That’s how you survive the first month or so in Thedas before you gain your bearings.

Now you’re traveling west. You should find Redcliffe in the next few days, if your luck holds and you keep to the right roads.

Unfortunately, you’ve had a streak of rotten luck recently.

This isn’t the first time you’ve been ambushed in the night, though this group seems more determined than most. Well armed, they are, but you’re used to that. The Kirkhammer on your back is a comforting weight, and enough of a warning to most. These fellows don’t seem to have gotten the message!

“Gentlemen.” You push yourself up off your makeshift bedding. Camping isn’t your strong suit, but you get by. “Can I help you?”

“You’re one of them,” says the one in the front. “One of those Hunters, aren’t you?”

Your former comrades have garnered endless infamy in the months since they’ve arrived. If these folk think you’re one of them, then they’re looking for a fight. You don’t know why. Who in their right minds would attack a Hunter? It would explain why there were so many here, at least. Hunters were known for their skill as much as their bloodlust. These people must at least know that. Still, how bold of them.

“It’s how I started out,” You say. “But we don’t talk much these days.”

The man in front draws his sword, and his men do the same.

Oh, dear. You heave out a sigh. This really isn’t how you planned to spend your night. You set the blade into its stone and heave the hammer off your back. There is simply no reasoning with people like this.

A commotion across the road, however, gives both you and the men in front of you pause. A pair of travelers, who must have camped further in the woods than you had, stumble out of the trees across the road with their weapons drawn.

Both of them look like men where you stand. The smaller, slighter man of the two holds a ruddy big greatsword that catches your eye almost as quick as his taller company’s staff. You’ve been here long enough to know what a staff means. A staff means a mage. They’re reasonable folk, for the most part. Definitely educated, especially compared to the common rabble. The villagers know what the staff means too — and these are villagers attacking you, not mercenaries. None of them know how to hold a weapon properly. Now they’re trying to decide who to point their pitchforks and dull swords at — at you, or at this new mage? You have to admire their bravery.

You aren’t sure where to point your weapons now, though. Mages are usually reasonable folk, but very defensive. The few you meet on the road are willing enough to chat with you by your fire for a while, and if even a part of what they told you about their rebellion is true, you understand them entirely. Who wouldn’t want to live their own life?

This new mage seems calm, though. He has dark hair and a rough beard, with what seems to be facepaint smeared across the bridge of his nose. That’s something you haven’t seen on a mage before. His staff is pretty, but not extravagantly so, and his clothes are rather plain compared to his handsome face. 

He relaxes a fraction once he sees the villagers, setting the end of his staff on the ground like a walking stick. He holds up a hand in a gesture of peace, and after a tense few moments, the villagers stand back, and the man next to the mage sheathes his greatsword. You set the Kirkhammer down to be polite, though the heavy thud was louder than you would have liked. The smaller man’s eyes flick to you.

Oh, not a man, but an elf! Excellent! You’ve only met a few, but they were some of the kindest people you’d ever met in the villages. Most were willing to help you on the way through, unlike a lot of the humans. And they’re so cute too, with their long ears and large cat eyes. This one seems stronger, more capable and with a firm presence, but you hope he’ll be just as kind as the others. Even the most anxious stray cats warm up to you once they’re fed. 

He wears dark, jagged armor, the kind that keeps someone out of a chokehold during battle. No one would be grabbing this one, that was certain. If someone tried to throw their arms around him they’d be skewered. His hair is a brilliant white, even in the dark, and you see twisting white tattoos burnt into his dark skin. 

“Now, what’s happening here? Ten versus one? Those don’t seem like fair odds to me.” The mage raises an eyebrow and watches the villagers, though he clearly hasn’t forgotten you by the way he sends you curious glances from time to time. 

“He’s a Hunter, ser,” one of the mumbles. “You must’ve heard what they do.”

“I have,” Says the mage. “Didn’t you hear me? The odds here are terrible. You should really get a few more men from… whichever village we’re near right now. You’re lucky he hasn’t already killed you. A ‘terror of the night, wreathed in flame and shadow’, as the story goes, doesn’t mind eating a few idiots — but he doesn’t look like an unholy terror to me.”

It suffered a bit on the road, but you still wear your faction’s garb. It would be an insult to your oath if you were to leave it for the sake of convenience. Bright white and silver cloth are dull with time, but you’re doing the best you can to keep it presentable.

“I… I suppose not, ser.” The elected spokesperson shuffled from foot to foot under the mage’s gaze. “He isn’t, er, making to eat us, as ye said. But that weapon of his — what else could he be?”

The mage raised an arm towards the sword his companion carried. “Last I checked, strength didn’t make someone a Hunter. I met a woman a few days ago who could carry a cow into a barn over her shoulder. Do you go around stabbing old milk maids in the dark?”

Could someone really do that? That sounds so impressive.

The villager shook his head, hesitant. “N- no, ser.”

“See? It’s all well and good.” The mage relaxes the rest of the way, adopting an open stance and smiling. “I’ll tell you what — we’re going to Redcliffe, how about we take this man with us? You won’t have to worry about him at all.”

His companion elbows him and hissessomething through his teeth, too quiet for you to hear, but your new mage friend doesn’t look bothered at all.

The villagers murmuramong themselves for a moment, but relent and start retreating back down the road. Now it’s about time you thank your saviors, isn’t it? It’s very difficult to get blood out of white cloth, after all. They’ve saved you quite a bit of trouble. 

“You have my thanks, kind sirs. I doubt they would have left off, had you not come to my aid.” You smile at them, careful not to set your hand on the Kirkhammer’s pommel and instead clasp your hands in front of you as you bow. The last thing you want to do is appear hostile to your new friends. 

“Sure thing.” The mage offers you a lazy grin. “So, what brings a lone man down this road?”

“I travel for Redcliffe, then for the Inquisition. I’ve a friend I hope to meet up with there.”

He raises his eyebrows. “The Inquisition?”

“How convenient,” mutters the elf. His voice is lower than you thought it would be, but it’s quite pleasant. He then addresses you very sternly. “That’s an... interesting weapon you carry. Where did you get it?” 

“Ah, my Kirkhammer? It was a gift from my workshop. I was once a Hunter, you see. Not,” you add quickly, “Anymore, though.”

“What kind of friend could a Hunter have at the Inquisition?” The mage holds his staff firmly, face stern now that he’s not sure you’re telling the truth, but he still doesn’t attack you. He’s willing to listen, at least. That’s a good sign.

“His name is Sukest, the Crow. I hear he’s made quite the name for himself.”

The two across the road exchange a look before the mage speaks again. “And what’s your name?”

“Ah, of course! How rude of me. My name is Alfred. What might I call you?”

“My name is Hawke,” says the mage, despite his companion’s glare, “and this is Fenris. Hmm. Alfred, you… wouldn’t happen to be an Executioner, would you?”

“You’ve heard of me?”

“Not much, I’ll admit, but the Inquisition is looking for you. We can take you there, if you’d like. That’s where we’re going.”

Fenris obviously hates this idea, but you heft the Kirkhammer on your back and sheath the sword nonetheless. They lead you a short ways to their camp. It’s much more comfortable than your small fire and blanket, you must admit. These two must be used to traveling. They offer food and another blanket, which you happily accept. You’ve gotten by, but this place really is absolutely frigid. 

Overall, traveling with them is much nicer than traveling alone. Neither of them really trust you, though you understand why. Hunters can be quite intimidating. You might not be one anymore, but you still remember what they taught you. 

Fenris is open with his distrust, but Hawke seems willing to give you a chance. He’s sarcastic, and his humor reminds you of your former comrades, but he seems to mean well. He’s certainly willing to help the people you come across on the road. They have a horse, though neither of them ride — it pulls a small cart instead. Traveling with them teaches you a lot you hadn’t known about moving comfortably. They camp further from the roads, and their camps are better sheltered. Hawke can light the fire with magic, even if the wood is damp. You much prefer that to sleeping in the cold. 

The three of you make it to Redcliffe in two days. It’s smaller than you expected — a collection of small huts sheltered by the shore of a great lake. You hope there’s at least an inn. Sleeping by the road always makes you miss having a bed. 

Hawke pulls a hood on and carefully hides his staff in the cart before you enter the village, but Fenris makes no attempt to hide his dark, pointed armor or pale tattoos. Does Hawke only hide because he’s a mage? You keep your sword by your side, but set the hammer in the cart at his instruction. It would only draw attention here, he said. 

They plan to leave in two days, and you plan to go with them until you overhear a piece of interesting tavern chatter. 

“Unfortunate, aye.” There are a few tables pushed together towards the back by a crew of men. Construction workers? Farmers? They’re certainly built for hard labor. 

“Oi, Ermon, don’t you have a cousin up there? Just married last spring, wasn’t he?”

“He is,” says the man who must be Ermon. “They’re safe for the time being. If it were safer on the road they’d have come here — I have room in my house for a few more, but they’ve a child on the way.”

“Right unfortunate it is,” says another man. “At least it’s happened just after the harvest. Fields aren’t safe to work in now, but they won’t starve just yet. ”

“Tough enough to grow there as it is, and now there’s demons and the dead are walking. Oh, what’s the world come to?”

The rest nod in agreement, and one calls for another round of drinks. 

Demons? You’ve seen a few of those, but not very often. They’re tough, but not too bad once you got the hang of it. Some are more difficult to fight than others, but a few aren’t hostile at all. A few are downright chatty, actually. 

Perhaps these people could use some assistance with this problem of theirs?

~~~~~~~

“Hawke, this is a terrible idea.”

Hawke closed the chest he finished packing. The less time they spent in Redcliffe, the better. “We don’t exactly have opportunities jumping from the trees at us. Perhaps you’ve seen some hiding in the bushes?”

Fenris sighed. “Not only are we going to the Inquisition, but now we’re bringing along one of these Hunters. I know,” he added tiredly, “that he says he isn’t one of them, but we have little reason to believe him.”

“Don’t they travel in packs like wolves?” There was an edge of sarcasm in the Champion’s voice. “It seems odd to find a lone one, especially one Varric mentioned by name. It does seem a little too convenient, I agree, but what’s the harm? The Inquisition can handle one Hunter if he’s lying, and if he turns out to be the real deal…” He trailed off, but this was a conversation they’d had several times on the way here. They both knew how it ended. 

“Whether he’s who he says he is or not, he’s certainly strange. I don’t like him.”

Their new companion was… odd, to say the least. There was something off about him, and he held himself lightly for a man of his size and build. He kept an airy tone no matter the subject, and was happy to chat about nothing and anything at all. 

That, and he’d spent the last two days staring at Fenris, which had not been well received, to say the least. 

“All we have to do is get him there. After that, he isn’t our problem.”

“Last I checked, we were going to stay there. I don’t suppose those plans have changed, have they?”

This was another conversation they had frequently, though not often in so many words. 

Hawke leaned over the chest. “I have to be there. I might not stay with them, but I have to at least try.”

Fenris’ face softened. “I know.”

“You don’t have to come, if you don’t want to. I’m sure Carver would be happy to see you, and so would Aveline. Isabela’s invitation to her ship still stands, too.” 

The elf sat next to him on the bed. “We’ve been through this before, and my answer hasn’t changed. Wherever you go, I will follow.”

Hawke just hoped it was a decision he wouldn’t come to regret. 

They were interrupted by a knock at the door. 

“Terribly sorry to bother you,” said Alfred, wringing his hands. “But I wanted to ask you something about our planned route.”

~~~~~~~

That soldier stared after the Inquisitor like a longing puppy. That wasn’t too unusual, but it was easy to see why it unsettled him. At the moment, both the soldier and Inquisitor were asleep. Blackwall looked on in mild disapproval as Sera knotted the Inquisitor's shoelaces together. 

“What are you doing?”

“Gettin’ even.” She tied a last knot and leaned back to admire her handiwork. 

“What for?”

“For draggin’ us through the swamp and for wavin’ a bloody dead pissbag at me. Don’t want him to do that again. This should about do it.” She thought for a moment. “Maybe some bugs? He’s got all sorts of pockets for them. Shame not to get him with it, he’ll be on his guard after this.”

Blackwall sighed. It was going to be a long morning. “And if he wakes up?”

“He was up half the night on watch. We’ve got a bit of time.”

“So you’re filling his shirt with bugs?”

“What, you’ve got a better idea?”

“You could just tell him to knock it off.”

“Could. Don’t want to.” She slipped a nearby centipede into a well-concealed inner pocket. 

“It seems… a bit disrespectful, to say the least.”

Sera snorted. “Have you met him?” 

When he didn’t reply, to turned to him and watched his face for a minute. 

“You haven’t, have you? I mean, yeah, you gave your name and shook hands, but you haven’t actually met him. He’s people, just like you, just like me. Nothing to be afraid of. Unless you’re one of the bad guys, then there’s plenty.” She tucked a passing beetle into another pocket and groped around for another one to keep it company. 

“He’s the Inquisitor. He might be a person, but he’s got an army and a castle, not to mention whatever it is he can do with blood. A quarter of the world is holding its breath, waiting to see what he’ll do, and here you are shoving worms in his pockets,” he said, as she did just that. Blackwall tried not to cringe. Nasty.

“Keeps him level. Last thing we need is his head in the clouds, yeah? Loads of people forget about the people they’re over. As long as he doesn’t do that, I think he’ll be alright.”

Solas returned from the camp’s perimeter as he thought about that. The mage looked over the two of them, and then at the two sleeping figures. 

Sera grinned at his expression and raised a finger to her lips. “Shh! It’ll be good, just you wait!”

Even Blackwall had to admit that, when the Inquisitor woke a half-hour later, it was pretty good. A grounded leader was just what the Inquisition needed. If this was the way to do that, then he hoped Sera was always around to catch a few bugs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one dayyyy chapters will be long again~
> 
> probably. depression is a heartless bitch.


	44. oops it does that now

Djura sat quietly in a pew in the back of Skyhold’s Chantry. It was not a chapel to his Goddess, but it was a chapel nonetheless, and he hoped it would serve his purposes. 

It was quiet in the little room, and the soft candlelight against the gold of the altar gave it a feeling unlike anywhere else in the keep. That said, it wasn’t quite what he needed. He stood with a quiet sigh and started for the door. Not here, but perhaps somewhere else. 

He nearly ran into Seeker Pentaghast on his way out as she entered. Immediately he stepped to the side and gave a short bow. She’d been a storm as of late, and he would rather not stand between her and her destination. 

“My apologies, Seeker.”

The Seeker was lost in thought, but for once seemed in the mood for conversation. “Djura. What brings you here?”

It was a fair question. He had no particular love for the Chant as a whole, though he’d heard the clerics sing and had to admit it was beautiful. “I had hoped to find a suitable place to pray. Though, in hindsight, the altar room of another religion is likely not the best place.”

“I had not taken you for the religious type.” She said, sounding genuinely surprised. 

And here Djura had planned to just slip out the door. Lady Pentaghast, as she was sometimes called when she was not present, was hardly what one would call chatty. “Most don’t. My Lady is not one for rituals or garnishes, and requires no services.”

“I… suppose I had not given it much thought. The Hunters follow a Healing Church, but it is easy to forget it is a Church.”

“Ah, my Lady is not among Yharnam’s gods. Had I not seen the cathedral, I would think they didn’t worship at all. The most I heard of their gods were in whispered prayers and the calls of battle. I can’t say I much care for it. It’s more of a material religion, if you get what I mean.”

“Through their blood, you’ve said.” Her distaste was clear on her face, but thankfully not aimed at him. 

“Indeed. If not for that, I doubt they’d have a foothold at all. Though, I’ll admit, the blood does work. It begs certain questions be asked, both about its claimed source and from where it has actually come.”

“What do they claim? If you do not mind me asking, that is. You’ve said much of their goals and actions, but little of their words.”

“If you’d like I can explain what I know, though this doesn’t seem the place.” It wasn’t anything of Hers, but the small chapel was still beautiful. If not for the suns and excess of gold, he could nearly pretend it was Hers.

They went up to walk the walls. It would give them both something to do, with the added benefit of preventing unwanted listeners. If the Seeker wanted a distraction, he could certainly ramble for a while. She’d been kind to him so far in her own way, and was likely one of the only reasons the Inquisition let him stay.

“The Healing Church has few gods of worship. Nothing so organized as a pantheon, and many of their deities lack even names. It is a religion of… philosophy, I suppose, more than faith.”

“You follow a different religion, you said?”

“I do. I never liked the Healing Church, even before I knew its secrets. The idea that the gods you follow are beyond approach, beyond even comprehension was never something I could accept.”

“What do you believe, then?”

“I follow what is often called the old faith — a series of stories and legends, passed down from ancient times. It is not dissimilar to your Chant, though it is, at times, much less coherent. Stories must be sought out, if one wishes to hear them at all. A few collections exist, a handful of tomes compiled by the clerics, but none are. Most pick a few pieces or a particular deity to follow and take the rest as it comes.”

“And… your Lady, as you called her, is one of them?”

“She is. It is a story of fire and dark, from the lighting of the first flame, along the rise and fall of kingdoms.” He gestured dramatically as they walked. She seemed to be looking for a distraction, and he was happy to provide one. “I once chased those tales of lighting spears and terrible wars, but no longer. My Lady Caitha is all I need. Now, is there anything in particular you would like to know?”

 

~~~~~~~

 

The Hunter took another step through the swamp and was eternally thankful that he had more than one pair of boots. He didn’t know where Sera had learned to tie knots like that, but they would have been a pain to untie. It was much faster to swap pairs once he’d realized what what was happening than it would have been to try and unknot the laces. 

Sera had a good laugh over his confusion while it lasted. So had Blackwall, though he’d done his best to hide it. Once the confusion was over even the Hunter had to admit it had been pretty funny, though the first couple minutes had been full of panicked flailing. 

They left the soldier behind — Kern, he’d said his name was. The Avaar weren’t far off, and the undead in that particular area were thin. Nearly any other day they’d have taken him back to Scout Harding, but the sooner they reached the Avaar, the better off the missing soldiers would be. 

It was still raining, with no sign of letting up, but that might be working in their favor. It would be harder for nearby undead to feel them through the water under the constant heavy impact of the rain. 

Admittedly, it was easier to deal with the undead they came across at a range than it was to try to close the distance without tripping on anything. He spun a few quicksilver arrows through his fingers as they walked. It was much easier to retrieve a spun arrow than to make a new one in the middle of combat. 

“How are you doing that?” Blackwall watched as he spun another arrow and pushed it into the Dream for later. 

The Hunter shrugged. “Hell if I know.”

“You’re making arrows from nothing and you don’t know how?”

“Not from nothing.” He held up a bullet. “I’m just shaping what I already have. Doesn’t matter if it’s fired from a gun or a bow, it’ll still hurt whatever it hits.”

“What is that? It’s too light a color to be steel. Is that silver?”

“Quicksilver and blood.” He offered the Warden a bullet. “Malleable, but they pack a mean punch.”

The quicksilver rubbed off on his gloves as he took it gingerly, leaving a sheen behind. “Its… fluid?”

“Kinda, yeah. Not sure how they keep their shape.”

“Where do you get these?”

“I have a good stock of them from who-knows-where.” The messengers could give him a seemingly endless amount of them, though where they’d gotten bullets, or anything else they had, he didn’t know. He could make them from his blood if he ran low, but it was damn painful.

“And you can just pull them from nothing?”

“I mean… kind of? Works with other stuff too. Weapons and armor and all that.”

Solas, who was a dozen or so feet ahead of them, held up a hand in warning before he flashed back to them. 

“There is a rift here, though we are not the first to find it. At least one Avaar is already here.”

The Hunter swapped the Bowblade for the Saif. “Well, shall we go greet them?”

A lone Avaar stood on a stretch of land, staring up at the rift. Search as he might, the Hunter didn’t see any others. Was this one truly alone? There was one way to find out. 

The Hunter stepped up out of the muck and approached. At the sound of his approach the Avaar turned, but their maul stayed where it was. The warrior didn’t seem particularly interested in attacking. For a tense moment, they only watched each other. 

“So you’re Herald of Andraste,” said the Avaar, breaking the silence but not the tension. “My kin want you dead, lowlander, but it’s not my job. No fears from me.”

“I thought your people wanted a fight. Is that not true?”

“Our chieftain’s son wants to fight you. I’m called in when the dead pile up. Fires to the gods, mending for the bleeding, a dagger for the dying. That’s what I do. I don’t pick up a blade for a whelp’s trophy hunt.”

An Avaar… priest? He let the Saif drop to his side, but didn’t put it away just yet. “The other Avaar kidnapped an Inquisition patrol. Do you know where they are?”

“Our chieftan’s son has them. If you’re out here, I expect you already know where. A few were injured in the skirmish, but not badly. All alive, last I saw them. Someone’s trained them well. They killed more of us than I thought they would.” There was no hostility in his tone, but a small amount of what could have been pride. A warrior's respect. Was it truly only one Avaar who wanted to fight?

“What brings you all the way out here, away from your people?”

“I’m trying to figure out this hole in the world. Never seen anything like it’s like. They spit out angry spirits, endless. What the sky’s trying to tell us, I don’t know.”

Angry spirits, not demons, and he was watching the sky. Not a priest, but something like a Shaman? It would explain his duties with the dead. He’d respect the sky and the earth, then, not some iconic deity. “The rifts come from the Breach, but something tells me that isn’t what you mean.”

“Rightly said, lowlander. The Lady of the Skies is trying to tell us something, but I can’t gather what.” The Avaar stared into the rift. It was only a thin line in the sky, not awake, but it could open at any time.

“If you won’t mind terribly, I’d like to close this.” He gestured at the rift. “It’s quiet now, but it could flare up.”

“Can you do that? I won’t get in your way.” The Avaar stepped back. 

“You sure?” Sera stepped up behind him. “It’s all quiet — we can’t just leave it?”

“It’s quiet now, sure, but I’d rather not have it here at all. We still don’t know what causes half-rifts like this to open.”

She drew her bow and retreated. “If you have to, I guess.” 

He raised his marked hand and tore the rift open. The first demon, Rage, nearly landed on him, and he had to hop back to avoid it. Glancing blows for this one, or the Saif would get stuck. He wasn’t sure if it was hot enough to warp the blade, but he’d rather not find out. 

The Avaar, it turned out, could disperse a wraith in two swings of that maul, and was only mildly put off by the Terror screeching at him. Rage didn’t last long between the Saif and Solas’ spells. The Hunter ducked back to beat a shade away from where Sera was firing, then swept over towards Terror to help finish it off. It wasn’t a particularly troublesome rift, when all was said and done, and despite its recent odd behavior, the Anchor sealed it just fine. 

“You really can fix the tears in the world.” The Avaar looked from where the rift had been to the Hunter. “The gods must be watching over you after all.”

Did it always have to involve gods? It could never just be luck and skill?

“I’ve seen your kind before, Herald. I’ll warn you: you are not alone here.”

“My kind?”

“Your people, of blood and blades and fire.” He rested the end of his maul on the ground. “There is one here, aside from you.”

A Hunter, here? “Do you know where?”

“I’ve seen him a few times. He travels alone and pokes about the pillars here. Pale stone on hills — you’ve seen them?”

“We have. He’s studying them?”

“I didn’t get close. One of my kin went to investigate, didn’t come back. I had to peel him out of the grass for the rites when I found what was left of him. I saw the blood fiend not to far from here.” He pointed off into the swamp. “Another pillar stands there.”

“Thank you.” He paused. “What can I call you?”

“I am Sky Watcher. May your god keep you, Herald. Watch the water.”

The Hunter nodded and started towards where Sky Watcher had pointed. A rogue Hunter was far too dangerous to leave alone. If the men were alive as Sky Watcher said, they would need to wait just a little longer.

“Are we chasing this Hunter?” Blackwall caught up to him quickly despite his heavy armor. 

“I’d rather not leave one here unattended.”

“So, what, we’re gonna fight ‘im?” Sera skipped up on his other side. 

“I want to at least find out what he’s doing here. If he’s here on business for Corypheus, we might learn something.”

“And if he’s not?”

“Then there will be one less Hunter to worry about.” He gripped the Saif tightly. Should have asked what the lone Hunter fought with. Well, he’d see soon enough.

The pillar wasn’t far. It stood tall, pale stone slick and shining in the rain. The stray Hunter, however, was nowhere in sight. He’d clearly been here, though. The ground was absolutely covered in undead, shredded and ground to pieces. Something serrated had done this, though that hardly narrowed down the list of potential weapons. Hunters do love their serration. 

Solas looked around, expression grim. “Whoever was here seems to be gone now.”

“He’s clearly been here, though. Should we light the pillar?”

“And draw him to us?” Sera looked and sounded thoroughly unnerved. The only Hunting ground she’d seen before now was Haven, and she’d only seen a little of that. “Don’t we have soldiers to save?”

“We do.” The Hunter sighed and looked around. “The rogue is more dangerous to us than the Avaar, but he’s quiet for now. Let’s go for the soldiers. This Hunter can wait at least that long.”

They left the pillar unlit. When the found the next one an hour later, similarly surrounded by fallen undead, they left that one dark too. 

The keep, when they reached it, was under attack. The undead were pouring out of the water towards the gates, where Avaar archers were holding them back. Not even they were immune to whatever curse struck the land, eliminating the possibility of it being an Avaar-based curse.

“I don’t like our odds here. It might be better to make for the gates.” Blackwall squinted through the rain. Most of the undead hadn’t noticed them, but a few were wandering towards them. 

“Soldiers first, undead later. Right.” If they didn’t break the curse, it wouldn’t matter how many undead they cut down. They would only get back up again. The Hunter started for the gates. 

For a few minutes, it almost seemed the Avaar wouldn’t attack. They opened the gates long enough to allow the party in, but as soon as they were any pretense of peace was broken. 

The nearest warrior swung at the Hunter immediately. He called the Evelyn to his hand, fired, and riposted the man in one fluid motion. 

The rest of the Avaar stopped where they were, battle cries dying on their lips as the Hunter tore through their man’s chest cavity and, after ripping his hand free again, dropped the man’s heart. None of them spoke. 

“I’m told one of you wanted to fight me?” The Hunter recalled the Evelyn, and clicked the Saif open instead. 

“The Hand of Korth himself,” said one. 

Another pulled a lever and a gate further in opened. “He awaits you in the main hall.”

“Very well.” The Hunter stalked through the halls, Avaar still as he passed. He heard the footsteps of his companions behind him, but did not turn. The Avaar wanted a fighter, they got one. 

The Hand of Korth was a giant of a man with a maul bigger than Sera. “Herald of Andraste! I will strike you down in the name of Korth!”

The Hand was a man of few words, apparently, but was big on action. He took several long, heavy strides and swung at the Hunter. Had the Hunter not avoided the blow, it would have sent him flying. 

He jabbed with the Saif and spun around the man, careful of the swinging maul. The rest of the Avaar charged after their leader, their prior restraint gone. His companions could handle them — he needed to focus on the Hand. That said, not a minute later Sera screamed and, caught off-guard, the Hand’s maul connected with his torso and sent him flying back. He was right, that hurt like a bitch. The Hunter stumbled back to his feet. 

A nearby Avaar swung at him and a quick visceral knit the worst of the damage. He wasn’t about to drop dead, but this was far from ideal. The Anchor flashed and flared, awake and raring to go, but with nothing to do. 

A handful of motions and a few too many missteps sent him sprawling from the maul again. Just how out of practice was he? This was pathetic. He scrambled back to his feet. 

The Anchor flashed again as he stood, nearly in response to the stabbing pain in his torso. He scowled and shook his hand before charging forwards again. The third eventual blow sent him skidding against the wall, agony like lightning shooting up his arm from the Anchor. Clearly it wanted something, but what? He lie on the floor for a moment, breathing heavily, before he saw Solas send a fist of solid rock to the Hand as he made his way over. 

A jolt of warm healing magic from Solas had him back up on his feet, and had the Anchor flaring brighter. It hadn’t hurt like this since before he’d closed the Breach — Why was it like this now?

The Hand charged at him, maul raised, and the Hunter shoved the Anchor forwards and pushed out. 

The air crackled with power, then burst in shades of green and blue as a rift split open in the center of the room. 

It screeched like a thing possessed and pulled everything in the room towards it. The first thing to fly into it was the Hand of Korth, followed closely by several Avaar and a good portion of the crumbling keep.It started pulling him across the room, but he felt Solas grab the back of his jacket. The mage braced himself against the back of a crumbling pillar, and the Hunter clambered back next to him. Across the room, he saw Sera clinging to Blackwall for dear life. 

The Warden’s sword was nowhere in sight, likely inside the rift, but at least he’d managed to wedge himself into an alcove, and was working on pulling Sera in next to him. 

“What did you do?!” Solas had to shout to be heard above the rift. 

“I don’t know!”

The entire thing lasted half a minute at most. The rift, apparently having spent itself, began to fold in on itself until there was nothing left. The deafening silence that followed was rivaled only by the ringing in his ears. 

Even the remaining Avaar were too stunned to do anything but look to the Hunter, who picked that exact moment to pass out on the floor. 

~~~~~~~

Solas sighed and leaned back as he let the glow fade from his hands. It would seem the Inquisitor would live to see another day, in spite of his best efforts. 

Sera hovered over he shoulder. “He gonna be okay?”

“So it would seem. One would think his regular flirtations with death would, at the very least, cease to surprise us.”

The Anchor still flashed from time to time with its new colors, but it was nearly inactive now. There didn’t seem to be danger of another rift opening around themin the near future, though he would need to keep a careful eye on it. 

The smaller elf bounced on her heels. “So… when’s he gonna wake up?”

“It will take time. A few hours at the least.” Anchor aside, the Inquisitor’s injuries were serious. To say the fight hadn’t gone well would be an understatement. 

Sera sank down next to the unconscious figure. “What happened? He’s never gotten slapped around like that before.”

“Well, he has only just recovered from his sickness, and has spent weeks inactive. It will take him time to regain his strength. I expect he did not realize that, and assumed he would be able to fight as he always has. As such, he was unprepared.”

For a moment, he thought Sera’s temper would bubble over like so much boiling water in a small pot. It wouldn’t be the first time. Yet it was gone as quickly as it came, and she slumped down next to the Inquisitor. “Of course he would. He’s not careful! One of these days he's gonna get himself killed. You better wake up, pisshead. I’ll fill your whole coffin with creepy-crawlies, don’t you let me do that.”

He left her with the Inquisitor and went to see how Blackwall was getting on with the missing patrol. 

“Warden Blackwall. How are the soldiers?”

“All accounted for. A few were battered in the skirmish, but there’s nothing that won’t heal. Better than expected. I didn’t think we’d find any of them alive, but here they are.”

The soldiers were in the process of building a large fire in the center of the collapsed hall. There were roughly a dozen of them, and most of them were only sporting minor cuts and scrapes. A few had deeper cuts or broken bones, but they would survive long enough to return home. 

“I wanted to ask… do you know what happened? Did he make a rift? I can’t say it was like any rift I’ve ever seen before.” 

“It would seem the Anchor can open rifts as well as close them. This rift was certainly different from the others. I expect finding out why will consume my dwindling free time for some time.”

The Warden lowered his voice. “Rift aside, what do we plan to do about that Hunter we’ve heard about?”

“I expect it will be up to the Inquisitor, though we all know what he’ll want to do. However, he is in no shape to be fighting at the moment. It will be some time before he heals from this.”

“I saw that. How many times did he peel himself off the stone? Three?” He shook his head. “I can’t say I understand how he does even half of all… well. All of it.”

“Oi, Egghead, he’s movin’!” Sera shouted across the room. 

He was, in fact, moving, much sooner than Solas had expected. He should really curb his expectations, where their leader was involved. The Inquisitor pushed himself laboriously into a sitting position. 

“Fucking hell,” muttered the elf before he looked up to the people around him. “What happened?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays, Merry Christmas, Season's Yeetings, whichever you prefer :3


	45. Hell yeah 3 am chapter

Being thrown across the room was one of the Hunter’s least favorite things. Being hit by a maul was, admittedly, better than being picked up and squeezed by a giant beast before being pitched into the ground, but it still hurt like a bitch. 

He waited until Sera wasn’t looking to down the two vials of blood, and injected a third once she’d decided he wasn’t about to drop dead and went to check on the rescued soldiers. It was probably overuse, but he really didn’t want to be confined to a room for weeks again. He wouldn’t be healed for a day or two, but for the time being he could hardly feel his injuries through the pleasant haze. They couldn’t wait to hunt down the rogue Hunter. This was for the best.

Solas at least waited until Sera had gone to settle next to him. The Hunter sighed. “Before you ask, no, I don’t know what happened.”

“I had assumed as much. Are you alright?”

“I’ve taken enough blood to recover. Shouldn’t be down for weeks this time, just a day or so.”

Solas blanched. Had that not been what he meant by ‘alright’? 

“There is still that Hunter in the area. We can hardly leave him loose, can we?”

The mage sighed, unhappy but still reasonable. “No, we cannot.” He glanced around them room and, finding no unwelcome listeners, continued quietly. “If we find this Hunter, there is a good chance it will lead to a fight. Are you prepared?”

“As I’ve ever been.”

“Most are not ready to leap into battle only a handful of days after being ill for weeks.”

He’d noticed, then. “I’ve… been better, alright, but I can hardly recover through inaction. I can handle a lone Hunter.”

Solas still seemed skeptical, but given his recent performance the Hunter couldn’t blame him. 

“I’ll wait until tomorrow to give my bones some time to mend, but if I wait any longer there’s a good chance this Hunter will have moved on. We don’t know why he’s here, after all, and this is my job. I swore a covenant.”

“We… do not know, you are right. Will a night be sufficient?”

“It’ll have to be. I’ll be sore, but it won’t be anything a nice stretch can’t fix.”

“Does the blood usually work so quickly?”

“Only if injected. I picked up a few needles from the clinic. Not really a fan of injections, but they are more efficient.” It was a luxury to not need the needles, but it was a luxury bought with skill. The Hunter sighed. Skill diminished by weeks of illness. “That fight was pathetic. I haven’t had one go that badly in a long time. I’ll have to ask Djura if he’ll spar.”

“I’m sure many others would volunteer, should he decline.”

“Probably, though I’m not certain that would do what I needed it to.” The Inquisition’s soldiers did their best, but would not provide the challenge he needed. “Did you find the missing patrol?”

“All are accounted for. Warden Blackwall is with them now.”

He pushed himself to his feet. “Let’s visit, shall we?”

Sera looked over from across the room and was by him in an instant. “You’re up! Why are you up?”

“I thought I might see how the soldiers are doing.”

She glanced to Solas as if to ask if he was alright walking around. 

“I’m clear, don’t worry.”

“You’ve got a record for being up and about when you shouldn’t. Had to make sure.”

The soldiers were for the most part unharmed, and were very happy to see him. A few actually bowed or even knelt as he walked around the crumpled hall. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen such behavior, though he still wasn’t sure how he felt about it. Should he tell them not to? Bow back? Somehow he prefered being shouted at by people he rescued. It was certainly more familiar than this.

He decided on finding Blackwall. The Warden was off to the side in conversation with a woman who must have been the patrol’s leader. She saluted and gave a partial bow when he approached. “Inquisitor, ser. You have our thanks.”

“I could hardly leave you out here. I’m glad to see no one was killed.”

“So am I. They came out of nowhere, and I thought we were done for. It was clear enough that they weren’t after our lives, though we took a good number of theirs. Good to know you’ve gotten the rest.”

“For the most part. It wouldn’t surprise me if they had a few outside the keep. With their leader gone I doubt they’ll give us trouble, but it’s always possible.”

She nodded. “Yes, ser. We should be ready to travel soon — where are we bound?”

“Scout Harding has a small group not far from here, we’ll meet up with them. We’ve heard there’s a Hunter around here somewhere, so we might take care of that first.”

“A Hunter? Like… the ones from Haven?”

He’d thought she looked familiar. “You were there, weren’t you?”

“I- I was, ser.”

She would know the danger, then. Good. “As far as we know, there’s only one. We’ve yet to see him, but we’ve seen where he’s been.”

“Are we- are we to engage, ser?”

“No. I’d like to get everyone here out alive. It’s possible we won’t encounter him on the way out, but I would rather have an alert camp than an ambushed one.”

She nodded, clearly relieved. “Rightly said, ser. I’ll warn the men. When are we to depart?”

“Whenever you think your men are ready. We could go tonight, might make it back to camp by nightfall, or we can wait.” When she appeared indecisive, he added, “If you’re not certain, there’s no hurry, Captain…”

“Finnex, ser.”

“Captain Finnex. I’ll likely go tomorrow and see what I can find of this Hunter.”

“Then for now, we’ll stay here. I’d rather not chance an encounter right now.”

The Hunter nodded. “Understood. Are there sufficient supplies here?”

“There should be. I’ll have my men check, but the mountain men had a good stock, enough for at least a few more weeks. If I had to guess I’d say they weren’t certain when you would come.”   
‘Of if he would come at all’ was left unsaid. She didn’t say it, but the soldiers likely felt that way too, more so than the Avaar. He couldn’t blame them, really. In their place he’d have felt much the same. At least they were all accounted for. “Good to know. Thank you, Captain Finnex.”

“I should be thanking you, ser.” She gave a last salute and went to check on her men. 

Blackwall waited until she’d left to say anything. “Are you… alright? Are you sure you want to go after that Hunter tomorrow?”

“We can hardly leave him.”

“We can’t, but… well. I could hear your ribs crack from halfway across the hall when you got hit.”

Had they? It would explain the strange feeling in his chest, and the worried look the Warden was giving him. It was nothing a fourth vial wouldn’t fix, even if it would need to be injected. “I’ll be alright. I have my ways.”

“Right, you have your… well.” Blood magic, yes. He did have that.

“I’ll be up and about by tomorrow morning, provided the remaining Avaar don’t attack today.”

“Do you think they will?”

“I don’t, but they could. They’ll be scattered now, with their leader gone. Barring any strenuous activity in the next few hours, I’ll be perfectly fine.”

“If you say so. You know yourself better than I do.”

~~~~~~~

No one attacked them, despite Sukest’s worrying. Sera looked over to where he was asleep from time to time. 

“He’ll be alright, you know.” Blackwall shook her from her thoughts. 

“So he says.”

“He’s done this before. By comparison, this seems downright tame. And he’s right, we can’t very well leave a Hunter here.”

She huffed. “I know, I know. He’s said it about a thousand times now. He’s used his healing stuff already. More than usual, I think, if he’s planning on being up and about with the sun.”

He definitely had, and he took more before they left, even if he tried not to be seen doing it. Sera didn’t push. There would be plenty of time later to fuss at him when they weren’t up to their breeches in muck. 

The rain had let up, at least. It was drizzling, but it wasn’t anything close to the downpour it had been. It didn’t take them long to pick their way back to one of the weird hill rock pillars they’d passed yesterday. 

The bodies scattered around it stank even worse now that they’d been exposed to the air. Sera fought down the acid in her throat. There’s nothing so gross that barfing won’t make it worse. . At least she knew it wasn’t just her, since Sukest pulled his scarf up over his face. If he was making a fuss then it had to really be bad. 

He stepped around to bodies to the mounted fire-not-fire basket. “Should we light it?”

Egghead lit it. At this point she should be expecting the demons, but they still gave her shivers. There were less bodies this time at least, and she set her sights on those. At least they were people shaped. The demons were tall and thin and leapt through the ground. She kept away from them. Sukest could handle those just fine. 

He handled them fast, too. It took less than a minute for both of them to vanish, and he went back to the pillar, hand glowing as he looked at the picture. It was a different letter than the other two they’d seen, but it shimmered in the same way that made her go cross eyed. She looked away from it. Stupid magic shite.

They lit the other one, too, and Sukest had just cut down the second demon when they heard a loud, echoed screech ring through the air. 

Sukest was back on guard immediately and looking for a source. There wasn’t anything in eyeshot, but with the rain thinner they could see the wall of rock nearby had an opening on it. Could it have come from there? Stone walls could explain the echo.

Through the gap was a near perfect ring of stone with an ancient and mangled tree in the center. The grass around it was torn up in jagged grooves, like someone had gone nuts with a plow and ripped at everything they could see. Just above the old tree was an open rift. 

It was quiet until they got near it. Until everyone else got near it. Sera wouldn’t be within thirty paces of the thing. She wanted to stay alive, thanks. 

It spit out the cold, floating demons that shrieked along with the bodies she’d come to expect here. Despair, Egghead had said. She could see why they were called that. They must have been what screamed. Could they scream through closed rifts? Whatever, not her business. 

She stuck with the bodies. It only took a few shots to down them, and so long as she stayed close to Blackwall they wouldn't be able to get her back. Sukest had his gun out and was firing at the Despairs. He’d gotten sick of firing with a bow, apparently, and swapped back to his folding sword.

It was going fine until the rift made a weird noise and spat out something new. At first she thought it was another risen body, just in armor this time. The way Sukest carefully stepped back away from it, unusually defensive, gave her second thoughts. 

Looking at the thing made her skin crawl. The bodies they’d been fighting moved, but they were slow and their faces were blank. It was easy to see they were dead and gone. This thing’s face was awake. Its eyes were sharp as it watched them all. It had a terrible grin as it drew its sword, a rusty jagged thing. 

She was out of normal bodies to fire at and switched to the Despairs. There were only two left, and one was clearly on its last legs. Or, well. She wasn’t sure if even had legs. An arrow to the face made it turn to dust, so if it had legs or not didn’t really matter. 

The second one was harder. It was determined to keep moving around, and refused to give here a clear shot. The clanging of metal on metal wasn’t helping. The first shot didn’t seem to do anything, but the second pissed it off, and the third had it focused on her instead of Sukest, who it had been heckling. He was busy enough with the new thing. 

Egghead shot Despair out of the sky and it landed in the muck. The fist made of rocks that slammed into it from the sky made sure it wouldn’t get back up. 

Sera fired at the body. It was armored, but there was enough leather that she could at least scratch it. It didn’t even seem to notice the first or second shots, but she had to abandon a third to avoid something magic it threw at her. Of course this thing could do magic, why wouldn’t it?! It couldn’t settle for being a friggin corpse knight?!

Sukest was holding his own, but he wasn’t making much progress and he would get tired before a puppet corpse would. 

Then he shot at it and went rummaging in its guts, which she’d kind of expected, but she hadn’t thought it would get back up. It fell back on the dirt, but then slowly pulled itself to its feet, grinning terribly. Sukest’s hand was brightly glowing again, but he didn’t seem to notice it. 

The thing hardly seemed to notice her arrows or the spells being launched at it or when Sukest hit the thing square across the chest and split its rusted armor. It just grinned and kept going, even with its new chest hole. 

Sukest brought his bow back out and went on the defensive, backpedaling while firing at it. How he did that without tripping, she didn’t know, but in any other circumstance it would be impressive. 

His weird arrows had more of an effect than she thought they’d would. It staggered back whenever one hit, like someone had slammed themselves into it instead of launching an arrow. It decided that Blackwall was a better target for its sword, and launched spells at Sukest instead. 

Blackwall could fight and do it well enough, but he wasn’t Sukest. It wouldn’t be long until he was too tired to keep going or the thing broke his shield clean in half. 

Newly cautious, Sera backed away from him. She’d rather stay as far as she could from the thing and pick at it with arrows. At least she could back away from it without too much trouble, despite the ground. Sukest had been able to stay out of the way of its powerful but slow swings, but that wasn’t an option for someone in heavy armor. 

For a second she thought its first swing had split his shield from the noise it made. Blackwall somehow kept his footing and his shield, though hitting it back was out of the question. Its second swing broke the shield in two. It wouldn’t be defending much anymore. 

The thing was so busy gloating over its soon-to-be kill that it didn’t notice Sukest coming up beside it until he was too close for it to magic him back. His bow was a sword again, and he used it to stab through its chest. It stumbled back, but took the sword from his hand as it went. The wavy blade was lodged in its chest now, and it was angry about it too.

Sukest pulled a new shield out of nothing but a bit of mist and handed it to Blackwall. It looked more ornamental than practical. It was half made of stained glass and the rest was silver, like something that would hang on a rich tit’s wall, but there was something strange about it she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Something about the glass, maybe? Now wasn’t the time.

Blackwall looked as skeptical as she felt, but raised the shield anyways. Sukest pulled his folding sword out again and slid around the corpse again, firing his gun as he went. It went back to swinging at him and putting spells on the rest of them. He led it around the circle twice, slashing when he could and retreating when he couldn’t. It was wearing the thing down, but it wore Sukest down too.

She could see Egg casting spells, but he was healing Sukest now instead of hurting the dead thing. For the best probably, but they weren’t making much progress now, and she was about out of arrows. The next time they passed, Blackwall chanced a stab at it. It didn’t swing back, but threw a spell instead. He raised his shield, expecting to feel the impact, but the spell hit the glass and slid off like the rain did, if rain glowed and hissed when it fell on the grass.

It noticed that immediately and knocked Sukest back with a spell. He didn’t fall, but did have to back up a bit. It advanced on Blackwall with a purpose now, and Sera scrambled back to avoid getting too close. The thing was so focused on its new target it didn’t notice Sukest coming back up behind it. He sliced vertically down its back with enough force to take it to its knees, then punched his hand into its back and tore out its spine. 

For a moment it didn’t move, trying to comprehend what had just happened. Then, unable to support itself without its back, it slumped to the ground and Sukest shoved his sword into the ground through its face. It didn’t move again after that. 

The rift crackled, reminding them all it was there, and Sukest snapped it shut with a wave of his hand before anything else could fall out of it. 

Blackwall, breathing heavily, let his arms fall to his sides. “What,” he asked the group’s mage, “in Andraste’s name, was that?”

“A Revenant.” Even Egghead was out of breath. “To say I had not expected to see one here would be an understatement.”

“So it’s a stronger undead?” Sukest yanked his sword out of the ground and flicked the worst of the gore off it, then pulled his other sword from it. He let that one vanish, but kept the folding one. His overall outfit was pretty gross now, and he swapped that for his feathers, bird mask and all, once he realized it. 

“One possessed by a stronger demon, often of Desire or Pride, rather than Terror or Rage. They’ve been known to destroy armies, given the chance.”

“And we just happened to stumble across one?”

“It least it’s dead now.” Sukest leaned back against the warped tree. “If one of our patrols had come here…” He trailed off, but he didn’t need to finish. A patrol would have been slaughtered here, no question.

“What is this, anyways?” Blackwall raised the silver-glass shield. “That spell hardly touched it.”

Sukest shrugged. “It’s a shield. Only one I’ve got that isn’t made of planks. Not sure how the glass doesn’t shatter, but it’s pretty. It’s good we killed the revenant, but what now?”

The ring of stone they were in looked impassable except for the entrance, but a piece of the back had crumbled away, and she pointed to it. “Through there, maybe?”

Apparently none of the others had seen it. It was dark over there, sure, but it hardly invisible. Sukest nodded and pulled himself off the tree. “Sounds good to me.”

The little opening had seemed a good idea from the outside, and the little path around it was clear of even the usual dead, but not even the recent fight prepared her from what they found a short way down it.

Clearly it had not been a demon screaming after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao see y’all next week


	46. Not a boss fight but it could have been, eh?

The clearing ahead was just shy of a nightmare. It didn’t reach the level of those terrible scenes Solas walked through in the dreams of the Inquisitor, but it came close enough for Solas to pinch his own arm, uncertain he was truly awake. The ground was torn to shreds just as it was near the rift, patches of it scorched or frozen with no obvious pattern. 

It had been a campsite once, given the supplies, but no longer. The tent was shredded nearly beyond recognition and spattered with drying blood. The remains of a corpse lie on the ground not far from it, but it was like no corpse the mage had ever seen. It was a hulking figure, covered in long, dark fur with it’s face down in the mud. It wasn’t a corpse just yet, he realized with a jolt of fear. The thing took deep, heaving breaths, muffled by the rain but clearly audible. 

Next to the creature stood a figure who could only be the Hunter they were searching for. 

The clothes they wore were tattered and filthy, but could have been finery once. Not even a thick layer of blood and muck could hide the deep blue of his broadcloth uniform and the delicate detailing stitched in gold thread.

They held a weapon he’d only seen during the fall of Haven. Hunters’ weapons would never cease to fascinate him, Solas expected. Their murderous society was ever creating new ways to tear other people apart. If anything, he was surprised to see the same weapon again. With so many choices, Solas was starting to think there were more unique weapons than actual, living Hunters. The device in this stranger’s hand was a long, thick metal pole with a round, jagged disc on the end. The disc spun rapidly, and the shrill noise was unforgettable. This was, without a doubt, a Hunter’s weapon. This man could only be one of them. 

The most puzzling thing about them was their helmet. In sharp contrast to their fine clothes, their helmet appeared to be an upturned bucket with only a single hole cut into it to allow the wearer to see. The Hunter stood, but didn’t make any move towards them. 

“Eileen, is that you?” The Hunter spoke in a smooth voice surprisingly unhindered by his headwear. He completely ignored the dying... creature behind him. “What are you doing out here?”

The Inquisitor said nothing, gave no reaction at all. He said Eileen was of the same guild, did he not? With the mask on and his cape obscuring most of his figure, they were likely close to identical. 

The Hunter looked a little closer, though not even closer proximity to his bucket hat and stiff professional posture could make reading his body language any easier. “Ah, not Eileen. I would know that moon-scent anywhere. Is that you, Sukest? I hadn’t known you joined her Hunt.”

The Inquisitor startled at the sound of his name, even if just a fraction, but remained silent. 

“I’ve heard you’re having trouble with your memory. You’re with the Inquisition now, aren’t you?” He paused, likely to survey the rest of them, and his voice was softer, less commanding when he spoke again. “Well, I can’t blame you. After what I’ve heard of that poor mountain village they swarmed on like maggots, the Hunters must seem utterly foreign, even downright monstrous to you.”

“What do you call this, then?” Sera was white as a sheet, her hands trembling, but that didn’t stop her from not quite shouting at the man. Diplomacy wasn’t her strong suite, to put it mildly.

“Ah, a bit of unfortunate business here. One of your circle sorcerers decided she was better off among filth than her colleagues. Stealing from Hunters is alright, until something dangerous is taken.”

That was a circle mage, once? When the Inquisitor had mentioned Lycanthropy, this was not what Solas imagined. The creature on the ground was massive. The corpse could fit three men in its space, perhaps four. 

He had a feeling this conversation would go nowhere if he did not speak. “Might I ask your name?”

“Ah, where are my manners? I am Valtr, master of the League.” The bow he gave was practiced and formal. “If you’re wondering my purpose, members of the League are dedicated to the cleansing of the filth that’s spread about during the Hunt. Like any half decent Hunter ought to, you know? Sadly, decent Hunters are in short supply. You’ve seen them what’s left of them, the bloodthirsty hounds.” 

He spoke with a deep conviction, every word carefully enunciated, with the kind of belief in his mission that went further than most would ever know. 

“Are you after other Hunters, then?” The Inquisitor finally spoke.

“Oh, no, that’s a bit close to your territory. Most of the League has left the main force and set to cleaning up the messes the rest leave. Messes like this.” He only moved his arm a fraction towards their surroundings, but the intent was clear. “I offered you a place in the League once, even if you don’t remember now. The offer still stands, even if I doubt you’ll accept. It’s good to see a decent Hunter find their place.”

It would seem there was no fight to be had after all. Neither the Inquisitor nor this Hunter seemed hostile to each other. Sera glanced between the two and, likely coming to the same conclusion, stopped inching her hand towards her bow in favor of relaxing slightly. 

Blackwall was behind him, and he could hear the man’s armor shift as he moved, but the Warden had yet to draw his sword. 

“What kind of mess leads to a thing,” He pointed to the dying creature. “Like that?”

“As I said, I don’t mind strays stealing this and that from the Hunters — keeps them in check, reminds them that they aren’t all-seeing and invincible. But this one here stole a bit of madness. She whisked it off to study on her own. If she’d kept to plain studying it, we wouldn’t have had a problem. Had I left her any longer, there’d be more than demons and the dead about. It’s unfortunate, but the last thing this place needs is a Hunt of its own.”

How could one steal lycanthropy? Was there a way to purposefully contract it? It was difficult to tell if this Hunter was telling the truth, but it would seem he had little reason to lie. The man could very well say he had slaughtered this creature for his own personal enjoyment and their opinion of him wouldn’t change much.

Sera was more or less hiding behind Blackwall by that point, tucked behind his lowered shield but still clearly visible. To her credit, she was still capable of asking questions in despite her fear. “What- What is that?”

“Have you never seen a beast before? I suppose it’s not too surprising. It was good that I stumbled across her before any of the locals — she could have made quite the mess, if she’d spread her condition.” Convictions aside, his voice was deep and steady. Unlike the Hunters of Haven, this man had his head firmly on his shoulders — even if it was under an upturned bucket. Solas supposed he was the last man able to comment on poor fashion choices.

This unfortunate apostate was a victim of Yharnam’s Scourge, then. To his horror, the not-quite-corpse was still trying to stand, to get at least out of the mud, but all she succeeded in doing was aggravating the long, serrated wounds that criss crossed her body. Blood stained the ground under her in splashes of muddied crimson. Her face, or what was left of it, turned up to face their group. 

It could have been human, once. There were hints and outlines of all the correct features for a person’s face, but they were warped and stretched nearly beyond recognition. Sera took the opportunity to fire a quick arrow. It’s eyes were an easy target at this range, one she didn’t miss even with her unsteady hands. 

“Good shot,” said the new Hunter, not even turning around as the creature slumped to ground, well and truly dead now.

“What are you going to do now, then?” The Warden posed a good question, even if Solas himself might have phrased it differently. 

“It’s difficult to say. I would say it depends on what Sukest here decides. That’s the thing with Crows — they only survive if they’re good at what they do, and I doubt I’d make it far if he didn’t want me to.”

“What would you say to coming with us?” It was impossible to tell exactly what the Inquisitor was thinking without being able to see his face, and at the moment his voice was unusually neutral.

Sera jerked to face him, but said nothing. Her expression spoke for her. At the moment, she seemed to be wondering whether the Inquisitor had finally lost his mind.

“I’ve no qualms about it. As I said, the League has split from the bulk force of the Hunt. I’ve nowhere in particular to be.”

They left the same way they came in, through the stone circle where the Revenant had been.. 

“You’ve closed it, then.” Valtr looked up where the rift used to be. “I heard you could do that. I tried my hand at clearing it out, but the demons seemed endless.”

“As far as I know they are, at least in the practical sense.” The Inquisitor kept walking without looking back.

“I can see now why you’ve been given such power, then. You’ve gotten quite the bargaining chip.”

“I didn’t have much say in any of it, really. I just close the rifts.”

The man chuckled. “You’ve got an army behind you. It seems like that would take more than plugging a few holes, but then, maybe not.”

“Where are we going?” Sera stopped in her tracks. “Patrol won’t exactly be happy to see a Hunter.” She didn’t look terribly happy to see one either, but Solas declined to comment. 

The Inquisitor stopped too. He hadn’t thought this through, had he? “We could… go back to Scout Harding? We should report back anyways.”

No one had a better plan, and if they did, they didn’t speak up The trek back was long, but aside from the easily deterred undead it was uneventful. Their arrival, however, was somewhat less amiable. 

Scout Harding’s eyes went from the Inquisitor to Valtr to the rest of them, likely wondering why they had allowed a Hunter to travel back with them. At this point, Solas was wondering that himself.

“Inquisitor.” She greeted him, keeping her composure remarkably well, even if the edges were starting to fray. “How did it go?”

“We found the patrol. All alive and accounted for, if you can believe it. One slipped out and gave us directions to the rest, but a leg injury stopped him from fighting with us.”

“That’s fantastic! I couldn’t hope for anything better. And the Avaar?”

“Gone, for the most part. A few strays might be around, but without a leader I expect they’ll scatter.”

“I expect you’re right, but we’ll keep an eye out just in case. Who’s your new friend?” She looked up at the Hunter, who looked down at her curiously. 

“This is Valtr. We’ll take him back to Skyhold with us.”

“A pleasure to meet you.” He gave what must have been the Hunter variation of a salute, with one hand stretched up and out, and the other fisted over his heart.

“Likewise.” She looked uncertain, but hopeful, out of what was likely only trust for the Inquisitor. Solas only hoped that trust wasn’t misplaced. 

~~~~~~~

Djura watched the three advisors squabble over the war table from the back of the room. They had a large map spread out over it, covered in their little metal tokens. He couldn’t make heads or tails of it, but then, so far all they’d done were throw about the names of people and places completely foreign to him. 

“Starkhaven has sent another missive. Two, in fact. One for the Inquisition, and one for master Tethras. He apparently has history with the prince.” Josephine fidgeted with her papers, pretending to adjust them. 

“Sebastian? We’ve met.” Leliana smiled. “I saw him while I was in Kirkwall, several years ago.”

“How do you meet these people?” Cullen looked a little surly today, snapping when he couldn’t quite tell if the Nightingale was having him on or not. “Next you’ll say King Theirin is a childhood friend of yours.”

“Perish the thought. We didn’t meet until the start of the fifth Blight, though we did travel together for the better part of a year. I’ve seen more of Alistair than I ever wanted to, thank you, no childhood friendship required.”

Djura couldn’t help but laugh at the look on the Commander’s face. She wasn’t having him on, then, and he must feel like a fool for being rude.

“What, Commander? We write sometimes. I have a letter of his around here somewhere.” She had a look of mock offense on her face. “I might still have the one with Queen Anora’s lipstick smudged on it.”

Djura wheezed to himself, bracing on his knees while he laughed at Cullen’s shock. If the Commander wasn’t careful his face would freeze like that. 

“On a more serious note, I’ve received a letter from our dear scout Harding. The Inquisitor recovered our lost patrol, and we should expect him back within the week.”

“Oh! I’ll have to make sure his room is finished by then. If he settles elsewhere I fear he would refuse it.” Josephine started looking busily through her clipboard. She likely had the entire restoration plan for the castle there, given the thick stack of papers.

“You’re probably right.” Djura hadn’t seen the room, but he’d seen some of the finery carried up into the tower. “You already took his things up?”

“Yes, we are just waiting on a few more pieces. They should be here by sundown tomorrow.”

“If you’re lucky he might actually sleep there instead of the garden.”

She paused. “Would he?”

“It would actually be one of the more comfortable places I’ve seen him sleep. Nah, just make sure he knows it wasn’t effortless. He won’t ignore a gesture like that.”

“We’ll need a guest room prepared as well.” Leliana lightly set a missive on the table, presumably the one from Harding. “He’s found someone else, in addition to the patrol.”

“Do we know his name?” Josephine pulled a clean sheet, likely to jot down said name and anything else they knew. Lady Montilyet, always so organized. Djura adored it. 

“A Hunter. The Inquisitor found him wandering the swamp, and decided to bring him back.”

Sparing random Hunters was not something Sukest was known for. The opposite of that, actually. Djura wasn’t sure he actually understood he was only meant to attack Hunters who’s gone mad. “Do you know his name?” 

“Valtr.”

“Valtr, of the League?”

“So he says. I take it you know him?”

“I do. He’s from back in my days. I hadn’t thought him alive, but I should have known. Who could defeat Beast Eater Valtr?”

“Beast Eater?” Josephine looked as though she wasn’t sure she wanted an answer.

“So the story goes. A group of constables from a foreign land came to the city chasing a beast. The beast picked off all but one, and one day the last constable cornered the beast and ate every last piece of it. That’s the short version, at least.” The long version wasn’t fit for present company. The Iron Bull might get a kick out of it, though. He would have to remember it later. 

“Is… is it true?”

“Haven’t the faintest idea, my lady. It might be, knowing the man. He’s a decent sort, but very... dedicated to the Hunt. If he’s off in his own, he might have left to start the League over again. They’re a strange lot at the best of times.”

“How dangerous is he?” Not ‘is he dangerous’, but ‘how dangerous’. Cullen was learning! He was likely already planning something, someway to keep any more Hunters from infiltrating his castle. At least his plans were rather simple and easy to foil. 

“He’s a Hunter, but so was I. He’s not one to attack without good reason. So long as you understand his reasoning, he’s good, you might say, reasonable company. One of the better Hunters, in my opinion.”

“What is the League, exactly?” Josephine, ever asking the productive questions. 

“It’s a band of Hunters, commanded by other Hunters instead of the Healing Church. It’s a small band, never more than a dozen at a time, but if any were capable of truly breaking away from Corypheus’ band it would be them.”

“Are there other members of this League we should know of?”

“I only know a handful of names, and they’re years out of date. League members aren’t marked, either. They have no common badge or uniform, nothing to give them away. If they were easily found, the Healing Church would have wiped them out ages ago.” 

“And this is why you didn’t mention a rebel faction to us earlier, of course.” Cullen glared at him, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. What was a middle-aged coward compared to the Hunt?

“Would you mention a group of people you thought were dead years ago when asked for possible allies? Besides, they may not follow the Healing Church, but they are still dedicated to the Hunt. I’d not relish guessing where they land in all this. As I said, I thought them all dead before I knew this world existed.”

“This Valtr could only be pretending.” The Commander kept his glare level. Finally, he was growing a spine.

“He could be, but I doubt it. He’s far from subtle. You’ll know what I mean when you meet him.” 

Perhaps Valtr could knock something worthwhile into the man. If he was even half the man Djura remembered, Valtr would be able to teach the Commander a thing or two about leadership and manners. 

~~~~~~~

Leliana stood near the gate with a small group of her people. The Inquisitor was due back within the hour, according to the letter she’d received from the bird now perched on her shoulder. The dark bird wasn’t one she personally recognized, but was well trained and surprisingly personable. She just might personally compliment the handler. If they weren’t already part of the Inquisition, she could find a place for such a skilled trainer. 

They weren’t standing out in the open of course, but they weren’t hiding either. There was no need here — the arrival of another Hunter was no secret among the soldiers. Their visiting dignitaries were not notified to avoid a panic, but most would assume she was greeting an old friend or, more likely, a particularly important ally under the pretense of a friendly visit. That was an image she could work with.

She could see Djura across the courtyard with Bull with that weapon he was building. It wasn’t functioning just yet, but already she could see that it would be something to behold when it was finished. No one in the castle would be able to carry it, save the Qunari it was built for. Even for him, it would be no easy feat. He could lift and swing what she understood to be the hollow casing of the final weapon, but already it weighed more than most mauls and wasn’t likely to get any lighter. 

She was shaken from her thoughts by the sound of the gate and smoothed her cloak over carefully. The Inquisitor was the first to see her. She assumed he saw her, at least. With his mask on it could be difficult to tell. 

He was, as always, glad to be off his horse and making no secret of it. The horse looked just as glad to be free of its nervous rider, and allowed itself to be led away by the stable hands. 

The man next to him must be Valtr, then. He certainly matched Djura’s description. The spymaster hadn’t been entirely sure whether his description had been a joke or not, but now she could see it was clearly not. 

He wore fine clothes, their quality clearly visible even through the sun-baked grime of the road. A coat like his wouldn’t look terribly out of place at an Orlesian soiree. His helmet, however, was where that quality ended.It looked as though someone upturned an iron pail and hammered a single hole through the front of it. From what Djura told her of the Hunters and their short supplies, she wouldn’t be surprised if that was what happened. All it was missing was a handle. 

The Inquisitor led him to her as she tried not to laugh. “Leliana. I would like to introduce Valtr, Master of the League.” He had been listening to Josephine’s lessons, then. She would be thrilled to hear that. 

“It is a pleasure, milady.” The new Hunter gave a formal bow, his hands clasped at his waist. A practiced motion, nearly automatic. His voice was deep and surprisingly unobscured by the bucket. Was there some kind of structure inside it? 

“The pleasure is mine. Please, come with me, if you wouldn’t mind. I’m sure the journey has been long, but my colleagues are eager to meet you.” It wasn’t actually a question, but the Hunter had no qualms with it. If he did, he hid them very well. Under his bucket. She wouldn’t laugh, she told herself. How unprofessional.

Djura was already waiting with the other advisors when she arrived. When had he slipped off from the courtyard? It was more difficult than she liked to keep track of him. 

He offered a grin as they entered. “Valtr, my friend! I hadn’t expected to see you alive again.”

“Djura! I thought they’d sent their dogs after you. It’s good you see you’re alive.” He clasped the smaller man’s offered hand, then pulled him into a brief hug. Djura was of average height, if thinner than normal, but this man was quite tall. “Where have you been all these years?”

“Oh, nowhere too exciting. Been keeping out of the way, for the most part. Even the most stalwart dogs cower when faced with machine fire.”

The man laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “True enough, true enough.” 

Josephine cleared her throat politely. She was nervous, but hid it well. No one but Leliana would ever know.

“Ah, of course. Where are my manners?” He faces the rest of the room and gave a polite bow. “I am Valtr, Master of the League. It is a pleasure to meet you all.”

“The pleasure is ours. I am Lady Montilyet, ambassador, and this is Commander Rutherford.” She gave him curtsy and relaxed ever so slightly. She was much more comfortable speaking with nobles and servants than soldiers. “Welcome to Skyhold, as it is.”

Repairs were coming along well, but there were still a few rough edges yet to be sanded. A few visiting dignitaries had made several loud, pointed observations about it and Josie had been worrying more than usual ever since. 

“It’s a grand place, this castle. I’d heard there was an army here, but didn't know if I should believe it. I can see now that you’ve amassed quite the force. Restoring an old place like this can’t have been easy, but it certainly is beautiful.”

“Thank you. It has had its difficulties, but it has been worth it. Do you have a last name, Valtr?” Fishing for any noble names, likely. 

“I used to, though I’ve long forgotten it. I haven’t needed it in years, certainly not since arrived in Yharnam. Should you need one, I could come up with a new one.”

“That will not be necessary, but thank you.”

Cullen, who had so far only stood in the corner looking grumpier than usual, finally approached the table. “You’re the Master of the League?” His eyes flicked to Djura. “You’ve left Corypheus’ forces, but have your men done the same? We could use as much insight on the Hunters, and as much assistance as you can offer.”

“Hmm. I suspect some have, though they’ve failed to report in. Can hardly blame them. Whether they’ve gone off on their own or not, I couldn’t say. I wasn’t in the most well-trodden place.”

“How is the League these days?” Djura was leaning casually on the war table, pointedly ignoring the tension. “If you’ve been promoted… well. There is only ever one master.”

Valtr sighed deeply. “The old city claimed many lives, even indirectly. My predecessor was injured that night and never truly recovered. As you know, an injury in the Hunt… well. Rarely is it conducive to survival.”

“And the rest of the League? Last I’d checked there were only a few of you.”

“You wouldn’t have seen, hidden away as you were. The burning was the last straw. Any Hunters who refused to submit to the Vicar were no longer welcome. These days we’re based in the woods, down by the road to the old college. Few of us remain.”

“How few? Usually there’s a dozen of you skulking around.”

“Much fewer these days. The Madaras twins — you remember them, never more than a few steps apart — stayed in the village, but the elder brother died recently. The younger spoke with me briefly when we arrived here. He intended to cross the mountains, or so he told me. I haven’t seen Henryk, but I expect he’s around here somewhere. With the good Father at his side, I doubt anything could take them down.”

Djura looked grim. “I’m afraid the good Father met his end during this last Hunt. As I understand it, Sparky couldn’t take the loss. Eileen had step in.”

“... ah. It’s a damn shame, it is. He was a good man. I’ve my eye on a few Hunters, but at the moment the League numbers at two.”

“Are there no others? I thought there was that new recruit. What happened to him?”

“Vicar’s people got him. If he isn’t dead, he’s wishing he was. Got hauled up to the cathedral, from what I’ve heard.”

Djura winced. “For refusing to kneel? They must be in trouble, if they came down on that so harshly.”

“I expect their reasons for it were double. See, the League has something they could never quite understand. We’ve our own Caryll rune, now. Once they discovered that…”

“Your own rune?” Djura’s eye was wide. “When did that happen?” 

“During Ludwig’s reign, as many things were. We kept it a secret best we could, but they have their ways. They always have their ways.”

“A rune… Perhaps the League could recover after all.”

“I offered you membership, once. I understand if you decline, but know that the offer still stands even today.”

“I’m sorry, my friend. I no longer Hunt.”

“I’ve noticed. You’ve lost your scent, too. Used to be the moon gave you away, now it’s your friend here.” He gestured at the Inquisitor. “I thought he was Eileen at first glance. Is she still kicking around?”

“Last I checked, though it’s been a while. Haven’t seen her here, at least.”

“She’s on in years, isn’t she? Saw her in the woods once, grappling with the snakes. Can’t say for sure who was winning.”

“Those damn snakes of yours are menaces!” Djura teased. “The Madaras had one as a pet, if I recall correctly.”

“They aren’t my snakes.” Leliana could hear the humor in his voice. “Though they tend to be rather calm, so long as you avoid stepping on them. You would know, if you’d ever come down.”

“I’ve seen all the snakes I need during my lifetime, thank you.”

They would chat all day if they were allowed. Djura’s tendency to ramble was excellent for collecting information, but far less useful for sparing time.

“Not to interrupt,” Leliana interrupted. “But could we perhaps discuss the matter at hand?” 

The Inquisitor brought back yet another Hunter. Why bring him to Skyhold, and what were they going to do with him? Leliana had a feeling that this meeting would be on the longer, more frustrating side.

“And what might that be, Nightingale?” Djura gave her his best insufferable grin.

“Our Inquisitor,” She chose her words carefully. “Has brought back a Hunter. Why?”

The Inquisitor shuffled in the back of the room. He hadn’t thought this through. It was likely he knew this Hunter personally and decided this was the best way to keep him nearby. 

“For… information? And allies.” he added at the looks he received. “We could use allies among the Hunters. We don’t need to worry about them killing our people if they’re our people too.”

“I can tell you what I know of the Choir’s plans.” Valtr stood tall even under scrutiny, hands clasped behind his back. “Then I intend to recruit for the League. Not from among your people, but from the Hunters. Many are nothing more than drunken fools, but many of those have recently perished. Some that remain may yet listen to reason. Were they promised sanctuary, some may even come here under a banner of peace. I understand you may not want that, but know that it could be possible, should you permit it.”

Hunters at their gates were far from ideal, but perhaps it could be arranged for them to meet elsewhere? 

“It is something to consider.” She allowed. Sukest’s relief was obvious enough to touch. “The more Hunters under our banner, the fewer that fight under theirs.”

She silenced Cullen’s upcoming objection with a glare. The Inquisition needed every edge and opportunity it could get. If that came in the form of more Hunters, so be it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rip Widris I guess haha
> 
> Anyways, we’re going to start moving at a faster speed than the usual ‘frozen snail’ kind of progression. 3ish perspectives per chapter might happen for a while as we get caught up.


	47. Y’all have been waiting for this :3

Sera flopped dramatically on Sukest’s bed. This new one was friggin huge to match the rest of the tower room, and stupid comfy to boot. “Why is he still here?”

“Who?” He was also laying on the bed, about five feet away, and was drawing something or another.

“Bucket-head. Why’s he still here?”

“Valtr?” He looked up from his paper. “Should I kick him out? He isn’t hurting anything.”

“He says, with a nasty bruise on his leg.”

Sukest sighed. “Sparring doesn’t count. And the bruise is from Djura, not Valtr.”

“Okay, right, but Djura’s funny. He gets people and isn’t all… Hunter-ey. I’m not sure Bucket-head even has a head under that bucket.”

“I’m pretty sure he does. How else would it stay on?” He went back to drawing. 

“Maybe he’s glued it or something. Collar that stiff could hold it up without trouble.”

“He has a head, Sera. He has to. It's not hollow or it would have rung when Djura punched it.”

“Your version of sparring looks like a bar fight, you know that?”

“The environment can be used in a fight like anything else.”

“Bucket hit you with a dummy.”

“I’m honestly not sure how he got it out of the ground without me noticing.”

She threw her hands in the air. “He’s friggin weird, that’s how!”

“Weird? Sure. Downright strange, even. A lot of people here are. I’ve never seen Josephine out of her makeup. For all I know it’s just her skin. Also, I’m not sure Leliana actually sleeps.”

“That’s not ripping up a dummy with your bare hands, now is it!”

“Okay, so he’s strong. He has to be to swing the saw around.”

That was another thing, even if she didn’t say it. That saw of his was terrifying. Last time she saw one it almost took her head off. It only didn’t because she ducked, and it tore through the burning building behind her in the fall of Haven. Took her ages to get all the splinters out. She hated splinters.

Sukest looked up again when she didn’t say anything else, concern and something else she couldn’t quite figure out playing across his face. “He wasn’t there, you know. No one in the League was.”

She snorted, still tense. “Sure, all two members were missing.”

“He’s trying to fix that. If he can recruit straight from Corypheus’ army, it could make a noticeable dent in his forces. The fewer Hunters he has following him, the better.” 

“And how’s he gonna do that? Stroll up to ‘em for a friendly chat?”

“That’s what he’s figuring out. Last time I asked, Djura’s plan was tossing a big net over a couple and hauling them to the dungeons or something. I don’t think Valtr’s taking Djura’s suggestions anymore, but no one has a better idea, so…”

“Is that what he’s making? A giant net gun?”

“I thought he was making the Iron Bull a hammer?”

“He’s waitin’ on something for it, some fancy metal Lady Josephine put in for him. He’s got something else now. Looks kinda tube-shaped? Like a big lip paint. It’s on this big square thing, swings around if you lean on it.”

There was a knock at the door, and a minute later Josephine appeared on the stairs. 

“Inquisitor, I’m sorry to bother you, but Leliana has called us together.”

Sukest slid off the bed. “I’ll be right down.”

Sera also pulled herself off the bed and started down. She couldn’t really attend, but she sure could listen in. No one but Leliana would even know she was there. 

Her plans, however, were interrupted. Interrupted by something she would rather never see. Ever, if it were up to her. 

“He worries so much.” It stared after Sukest with its empty blue eyes. “About the people here, about what will happen. Can he help here? It’s not what he’s meant for, but it seems to be working.”

Friggin creepy. If it was here, she’d eavesdrop another day. For now, the tavern was sounding better and better. Except it followed her as she went. Because of course it did. Why did it have to do that, or anything, for that matter?

“You don’t like them.” It watched her with its sad face and empty eyes. “Shaking terror and burning wood, so much death and it doesn’t matter. You hate them. Why don’t you hate him too?”

Sera growled, irritated. “Talk sense or sod off. I’ve got things to do.” 

She didn’t have anywhere to be really, but she’d find something to do just to avoid talking to it.

“He’s scared. You scare him. You all do.”

She snorted and walked faster. 

“It keeps him up sometimes. He could find the rest alone, they aren’t hidden. Some might even listen to him.”

Sera stopped dead in her tracks and spun to face the demon. “Why are you following me?! Sod! Off!”

“Not until you understand! Why can’t you? He told you who he was!”

It had never yelled before, not that she could remember. A few people were staring, but she didn’t care. “Talk sense, then!”

“He’s told you who he is! You’ve seen his work, you’ve seen his power. You still don’t know, but you could. You’re already so close, just a bit more…”

“A bit more what?!”

“Talk to him,” said the demon. “Talk to the others. They know who he is, too.”

~~~~~~~

The Hunter looked over the war table. He had no idea what any of the little figurines meant, but they certainly looked significant. That one looked like a little bird, was it one of Leliana’s?

“Gibberish, hmm?” Djura leaned over his shoulder. 

“I’m sure it means something. Mirrored, maybe?”

“Honestly, it isn’t difficult. Oh, nevermind,” Josephine said with a sigh when he only stared blankly. 

Leliana, at least, seemed amused. So did Varric, though the Hunter wasn’t quite sure why he was here. 

“We’ve a few things to discuss.” Began the spymaster. “First and foremost, our next course of action. Varric here has something that will help us there.”

He looked so small next to the table, but he could still see over the edge. Would it be demeaning to offer him something to stand on? Better not, just in case. 

“A while back I mentioned I had a friend with abilities similar to our Inquisitor here. Well, I got to searching, and managed to find him.” He seemed uncharacteristicly nervous. Why would this be bad?

That was… at Redcliffe? It seemed like ages ago, now. The Hunter had nearly forgotten. “With the tattoos, you mentioned?”

“The very same. He’s with another friend of mine, a friend who also wants to help the Inquisition. They also have what we think is a Hunter with them.”

“A Hunter?” Djura leaned forward over the table. 

“They weren’t sure if it was a good idea bring him up here, so they’d like to meet in Crestwood. People there have something of an undead problem at the moment, as I understand it.”

“I have no problems with going. When do they want to meet?” Hunters really were just popping up everywhere these days, weren’t they, even after so many were buried at Haven. Just how many were there?

“From the date of this,” Varric said while waving a letter, “I would say they’re already there and don’t plan to go anywhere. Between you and me, I think they’re hoping for sooner than later.”

“How soon can we go?”

In just a few days, it turned out. The Inquisition already planned to send a number of supplies to Crestwood, and it was a small matter to adjust a few small details. The Hunter went with them, along with a small group of others. 

When they left three days later, the Hunter was hopeful, but couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something he didn’t know about this. Just what were they not telling him?

~~~~~~~

It was some time since Solas felt Micolash tugging at his dreams, but he certainly felt it tonight. There was a clarity there that had been missing before. Clearly he was practicing. 

He was led to the same ancient library as before, but there was a world of difference on the inside. The dust and stray papers had been carefully removed, and the books that had been haphazardly piled on the floor were nowhere in sight, presumably reshelved. 

Out from around the corner came what Solas thought to be a person, for the briefest of moments. Its flesh, however, was withered and grey, its hair sparse and silver with age. It was held together with what looked to be string, its limbs disconnected yet mobile, and it dangled from the ceiling as though it were some kind of marionette. 

It slid through the air, strings faintly visible but leading nowhere, around the mage and down the hall. It was carrying several books — had this thing been cleaning? He heard footsteps, followed shortly by Micolash’s appearance at the top of the nearby stairs.

“Ah, you’ve arrived. Welcome back to my Nightmare.” He was grinning terribly, and gave a bow surprisingly unhindered by the large cage he now wore on his head. It was the one the Inquisitor had returned to him, though Solas had not taken it for headwear. 

“It is a pleasure, Micolash.” He gave a polite bow of his own. The man felt different this time. He could feel, almost see the power around him. Another marionette swept through the air behind him. Was it he who animated these puppets? “How have you fared since we last spoke?”

“I feel better than I have for a long time. It’s so nice to be back in my place.” His grin softened, but was still what Solas would describe as unsettling. “Ah, but I’ve called you here for a reason, and it isn’t pleasantries, though you do them so well. Please, come with me.”

Micolash led him up towards the stone plaza, though the halls leading to it were no longer empty. More of the strange puppets flitted about, shelving books and dusting shelves. The strange eggs were still present in the upper halls despite the dust and pages having been cleaned, and watched the pair curiously as they passed. 

It was once they stepped outside that the strangest creature approached them. It looked, for all intents and purposes, to be a dog; only it had the feathered head of a crow, rather than the canine head it should have. 

It stood slightly above his waist, and Micolash reached down to pet it. Tail wagging, it followed them as they went. It was not the only creature of its kind, but the others seemed content to lie along the railings as they preened. 

It wasn’t long before he saw one of the mirror of the creatures, several large crows the size of children with the heads of dogs. It watched them from its perch on the ledge of a building, and was not the only one of its kind to do so. 

Micolash led him to a different building than the last, this one clearly a work space rather than a living one. He retrieved a folder from a cluttered table and brought it to an emptier one, sitting down gracefully despite his towering hat. 

“I have watched the Hunter’s plans. Through the minds of the choir, so adorably veiled from me, and from their dogs, I have found what I sought.” He opened the folder. “As I understand it, they wish to place themselves in power, as they always have. They need a hole to fill, however, if they want to do that. A disorganized nation is an easily conquered nation.”

The folder contained a small stack of letters bound with twine, several pages of small, cramped handwriting, and a single woven feather. Was that feather from the Inquisitor’s cloak, or were the birds here made of cloth?

“Corypheus plans to kill the Empress of the country you call Orlais. Celene, her name is, is it not? A close friend of hers will betray her, in what she thinks to be the perfect crime. Perhaps it could be, were he not planning to betray her.”

“To catch an empress’s killer and feign sympathy for the nation could give Corypheus and his Hunters a step towards being officially recognized.” Solas looked at the feather curiously, and Micolash lifted it to spin between his fingers. How did a feather fit in with all of this?

“You are not without allies — it would seem a Crow is nesting in Halamshiral. She went to a rift, you see, and was rather keen on investigating it. An older Hunter, yes, but age is merely skill to them. She could be quite the asset to your Inquisition, particularly if you have the League under your thumb.”

How did he know about that? Solas’ surprise must have shown, as Micolash widened his already jaw-splitting grin and explained. 

“I saw him in the mire. He fought for a time in the ring of stone, but carried on. I saw you too, later on. You came to the ring too. I cannot follow your Crow so easily, but the Beast Eater is a beacon to me.”

The mage had heard Djura tell the story of the distant constable, now a Hunter. It would be quite the tale, if it were true. Several others listening were unable to stay to the end of the story — the ashen Hunter spared no detail. “You can see through the rifts?”

“I can. This is not your Fade,” he said, sweeping his arms to the room around him and answering Solas’ question before he could voice it. “But it is close. I could not attempt it without the proper tools, but with one so graciously returned to me, I find myself with quite the number of opportunities.”

The cage. It allowed him these abilities? How? Solas could see the power swirling through it, structured by the bars, but could not see how it did so. There were no runes or engravings of any kind, no sources of power, only metal bars. Could Micolash be a mage?

“Allow me to tell you just one thing. I do not mean to insult your… Inquisitor, you called him, but there is something he would not tell you.”

“And what might that be?”

“He has shown you how he can call things to his hands as if from nowhere, has he not? Has he explained how this works?”

“Very briefly. He has said that there is a place, somewhere connected to this one, where he can store things. At times, he can travel there.”

“Indeed he can, and he may return through those lamps of his. Has he told you anything of that place?”

“Only that it exists.”

“Hmm. I suspected as much. He has not told you, then, that he is not alone in that place?”

“He… has not.”

“Another Hunter resides there, by the name of Gherman. He’s been there for quite some time.”

“Djura mentioned him, once. He asked if the Inquisitor spoke with him.”

“He yet lives?” Micolash looked absolutely thrilled. “Such a joy, that one! I spoke with him only once, but as I understand it he made no end of problems for the Choir. Ask him, sometime, how he received one of their runes. It’s quite the tale.”

Of course. It was foolish not to ask about his personal runes before now. He may claim to have left the Hunters behind, but the brands the Inquisitor carried were rather permanent. Djura’s would be no different. “Very well.”

“Now,” Micolash continued. “Gherman was the first Hunter. I cannot reach the Dream where he resides, but you walk between here and there effortlessly. Gherman knows more about the Hunt than any of us, and has remained unseen by those that see all for decades. If we had a way to contact him, it could give you an edge over the rest of the Hunters, or at least a bit of leverage.”

A chance to speak with the first Hunter? This was exactly the kind of information the Inquisition needed. “How could I find this place?”

“I would think the lamps will lead you there. Should they fail, something from that distant dream could lead you. Things your Inquisitor holds dear should suffice as well. He is, after all, bound to the Dream as much as Gherman.”

Bound? “I will focus my efforts on accessing this place, then.”

“Excellent! But, for now, take this.” He closed the folder and pushed it towards Solas. “There should be a good amount of evidence here, regarding what I’ve found. Perhaps enough to stop the plot entirely. Should that fail, well. I’m certain you could turn the situation to your advantage, rather than allow it to consume you.”

~~~~~~~

The Hunter woke suddenly with a deep feeling that something was dreadfully wrong, without the faintest clue as to what exactly was going so wrong. 

The room was the same as it had been since he’d started sleeping here. Nothing was out of place, and he couldn’t hear anything breathing in the dark. 

But still something felt wrong. He pulled himself out of bed and crossed the floor to the balcony. Most of the castle was visible from here. Everything was normal — the patrols were in place on the walls, and the courtyard was quiet at this time of night. 

So why did he still feel that something was deeply, terribly wrong?

The turned back to the room and saw a single messenger, wringing its hands nervously as it looked up to him. 

He knelt by the small figure. “What’s wrong?”

It vanished into the ground, then reappeared a short distance away. It wanted him to follow?

“If that’s what you need, sure.”

It led him down through the castle, the Hunter’s sourceless dread only growing as he recognized the halls it led him down. Was it leading him to the lamp? Had something happened in the Dream?

He broke into a sprint, and the messenger vanished. It waited for him in the hall, a small hand already on the hidden catch. The lamp was the same as always, but then, would it change if something happened? There was only one way to find out. 

The Dream, at first glance, seemed exactly the same as it always had been. It seemed the same, at least until he saw the Doll standing over at a very, very terrified elven mage. 

“Solas?”

The elven mage jerked his head towards the Hunter, clearly off-guard. 

“Are you alright?” What was he doing here? How did he even get here?

“I… yes. Merely startled.”

“Good Hunter.” The Doll turned from the mage to bow to him. “Welcome home. Please pardon the question, but do you know this man?” 

“I do. This is Solas.”

She gave a careful curtsy. “Welcome to this Dream, Solas.”

“Thank you, miss…” The mage was clearly unnerved, but determined not to let it get in his way.

“I am a doll, here to care for this Dream. If there is any way I can help you, please do not hesitate to ask.” She offered the mage a kind smile. 

The Hunter offered him a hand. “Come on, I’ll give you a tour.”

It wasn’t a very long tour, admittedly. The gardens were beautiful as always, but the Dream itself was rather small, and the gravestones required little explanation. He led Solas to the workshop. 

“So, not that it isn’t nice to see you, but… what are you doing here?” And how did he get here?

“I came here as I slept. Admittedly, it is not what I expected.” His eyes swept over the scattered books and crooked rugs. At least the Hunter had swept the worst of the mess out of the way. The pages torn from their books and the broken mirror were out of the way at least, and even if there wasn’t nearly enough space on the shelves for all the books they were stacked and somewhat out of the way. 

There was, at least, a table and a set of chairs clear enough to sit at. The small round table and carefully carved pair of chairs suited the building quite nicely. There was a tea tray resting on the table, though it went untouched for now.

“So you just… wandered in here?” That was possible? Solas had said people who walked the fade were rare, but they weren’t nonexistent. Could others find this place?

“Not exactly. This place was my goal.”

“Any particular reason?” 

The mage sighed. “I had a rather fruitful conversation with Micolash earlier, in relation to this place.”

Micolash? The cagey Mensis guy? “Learn anything interesting?”

“I suppose there’s little point in dancing around things. I heard tell of another Hunter here, by the name of Gherman. Has he remained here?” Solas watched him carefully. 

Oh. It kind of made sense Micolash might know about that. He was pretty old, wasn’t he? “He… was here. Not anymore.”

“Where has he gone? A Hunter from so long ago may be able to provide some illumination on our problems. Is it possible-“ 

Best not to beat around the bush here. “He isn’t here because I killed him.”

Solas’ next words died in his throat, and it took a few moments until he managed to spit something out. “You… killed him. One day, you will cease to surprise me. Why would you do such a thing?”

“He tried to kill me. I retaliated. Fighting him is the last thing I remember before waking in Thedas, actually. I must have won, though.” The Hunter pointed to the Burial Blade hung above the workbench. “That was his. I don’t believe he would have known anything about Corypheus. The Doll knows nothing, and he would see nothing she didn’t.”

“Ah. Regarding the Doll...”

“Hmm?”

“Where did she come from? Is she a construct, or merely a spirit?”

“She was here before I was. Gherman didn’t seem to like her much, wouldn’t speak when she was near, but she’s never been anything but kind to me. Helps me stitch up wounds and repair equipment. The gardens are hers as well. She runs this place, I suppose, whatever you call her.”

“She runs this place. Not Gherman, then?”

The Hunter snorted. “Gherman was an old man who sat about in a wheelchair sleeping and giving unhelpful advice until he stood up to attack me. No, the Doll helped me more than he ever did.”

“And she knows nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“Does she have a name?”

“Not one she’s ever given me.” Should he ask? He had assumed she was never given one.

“That doesn’t bother you?”

“Should it?” It never really had. For the most part, it was just the two of them. There wasn’t much need for a name.

“I suppose not.” The Mage still looked uncertain, but calmer than he had only a short time ago. 

“Did Micolash mention anything else?”

“Not about this place. He has, however, uncovered a rather important piece of Corypheus’s plot. He intends to have Empress Celene assassinated.”

“Isn’t Orlais in the middle of a civil war already?” It was something Josephine had mentioned. Someone was trying to overthrow her. A cousin? Brother? Some family member. He wasn’t paying very close attention.

“Indeed, they are.”

“I won’t lie, I’m glad I’m headed into Ferelden instead of over there for now. All I’ve heard about Orlais is war and strange parties.”

“I’m sure Ambassador Montilyet will be ecstatic to teach you more.”

The Hunter groaned and set his head on the table. There was no doubt in his mind that she would. He waited until Solas had gone to approach the Doll. 

“Can people normally just… find this place?” Was there a way to stop people from getting here?

“The dream has always protected itself, Good Hunter. He is the first in a very long time to succeed. Should anyone else come, I will send the little ones to find you.” She gave him a reassuring smile. For such a small gesture, it really did make him feel better.

“Thank you.”

She paused for a moment, watching his face. “Does something else trouble you, good Hunter?”

“I was sick for some time, and my skills seem to be suffering for it. I don’t suppose…?”

The Doll smiled and held out her hand. “Very well. Let the echoes become your strength. Now, let me stand close, and shut your eyes…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rip Solas I guess lmao


	48. Bet y’all forgot about this. It’s okay I did too.

“I know you do not want to, but it must be done.”

“Does it, though?” Of all the things the Hunter didn’t want to do, this was close to the top. He had a wide skill set, but this was decidedly outside of it. 

Josephine sighed from behind her desk. “Yes. As Inquisitor, you are expected to sit in judgement for those the Inquisition takes prisoner.”

“I can’t appoint someone else to do it?” That’s what people in charge did, right? Delegate all their work so they can do what they want?

“You cannot. If we were a larger force you might, perhaps, appoint a judge. At the present time, it will only make you appear incapable and indecisive.”

And right now they couldn’t afford even a small sign of weakness. He’d heard that plenty, at least twice from every advisor. “So what, I just sit the fancy chair and decide people’s fate?”

“To put it simply, yes. I will be there to direct trials and advise you, and the Commander may attend as well, should the situation call for it. You are, of course, free to invite whoever you like. There are several different forms a trial may take, and even those forms may be shaped to your preference.”

“But if I don’t bring back prisoners, then I won’t have to do this?”

“That is… one way to think about it, I suppose. You are, however,” she said sternly, “Expected to judge those others bring to the Inquisition as well. It need not always end in violence. If applied carefully, there are punishments which can make the headsman’s axe seem merciful in comparison.”

“Is there anyone we have right now, or is this a ‘for the future’ kind of thing?”

“Currently we have Gereon Alexius, former Magister of the Tevinter Imperium. The Imperium has stripped him of his rank and denied all involvement in the events that unfolded during our time at Redcliffe. Fereldan has surrendered him to us as a show of thanks for our involvement in apprehending him.”

To him, then. They’d given the man to him. When had he even gotten here? “Does it have to be done now?”

“Not at this exact moment, but you are expected to address those held here in a somewhat timely manner. You may speak with him if you wish, or with any others you believe to be involved. His son is here as well, as a guest of Altus Pavus. They spend most of their time in the library. That may be a good place to start.”

That would be a good place to start, in his opinion. Dorian had introduced himself as the man’s former student, after all. The Hunter felt like asking his opinion was only fair. He himslef didn’t have a personal stake in the man’s survival. His plans had been foiled, and he’d been only mildly inconvenienced. Dorian, on the other hand, might actually care. Besides, who else would know the man better? He thanked Josephine for the suggestion before setting out for the library.

~~~~~~~

Dorian turned another page of his book. It wasn’t a terribly interesting read and he couldn’t even recall the title, but he was rather low on options at the moment. Although the collection here was growing it was still quite small. Though the Inquisitor brought back a handful of Varric’s dreadful, entirely uninformative books he found scattered around the far corners of the Hinterlands, no one else bothered to bring back any books they found. 

He absolutely did not jump at all, in any way, shape, or fashion when the Inquisitor himself quietly cleared his throat from the doorway of Dorian’s small retreat.

“Altus Pavus.” He spoke quietly and hung back near the end of the shelf. If this was any other man save the Inquisitor, Dorian might think him nervous. Without his armor on, the man looked much smaller than usual. The feather cloak that padded his thin shoulders was nowhere in sight for the time being, but the long, thick blue coat and dark boots remained. If he’d never seen it soaked through with blood before, he might have admired the outfit. 

With things being what they were, it was odd to see the elf wear his armor at all in such a casual space. Lady Montilyet made a great effort to find him suitable clothes and a proper tailor despite Skyhold being squarely placed in the middle of absolutely nowhere. She would be driven to distraction seeing him wander around in his armor, intimidating or even frightening their honored guests. Dorian sighed at the thought. Not everyone was suited to diplomacy. At least he’d left that horrendous mask with his cloak. It was something out of an Orlesian’s nightmare.

“Inquisitor.” He closed his book and stood from his chair. One of them had to speak first. If the Inquisitor wouldn’t, then he might as well hurry things along. “What can I do for you, Your Worship?”

“Nevermind that. I only want to ask a few questions, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.” If the elf was willing to let both him and Felix remain with the Inquisition and asked for only a few questions in return, then far be it from Dorian to deny him.

He never expected the Inquisition to allow Magisters or their close family members to stay in the fortress, much less so near to the Inquisitor himself. It was more surprising still that the Inquisitor, a man with a great reputation for killing first and asking a few questions later, took Alexius into custody instead of simply killing him. Dorian had to admit he was one part skeptical and two or more parts intrigued by the man’s seemingly nonsensical decision-making process. Maybe it was curiosity that kept him here at all. Or else a backwards sense of loyalty to his country, despite the Venatori’s stupidity. Either way, he was eager to hear what the nervous Inquisitor had to say.

“I’ve recently discovered the former Magister Alexius has been given to the Inquisition.” He started, looking no less nervous. “While I don’t know what they’ll do with his land, or anything else…”

Dorian’s heart sank. Perhaps he didn’t want a few questions after all, or else had an odd idea of how questioning worked. It isn’t terribly complicated, he thought to himself, but questioning traditionally started with a question. Maybe he ought to be grateful for a bit of warning about their topic of conversation. What could the Inquisitor want from him?

“...You introduced yourself his former student. I thought you might be able to tell me a little about him. It looks like all he’s done is allow the people he thought were healing his son to stay in the castle. That hardly seems like a crime to me.”

That… was not the turn Dorian expected the conversation to start with--or include at all, if he was being honest. Was this some kind of trick? “You forget that it wasn’t his castle, I think. Not to mention trying to enslave a few hundred so-called ‘free’ mages.”

“Whose castle was it, then? No, don’t answer that. It doesn't matter. I didn’t forget about the mages, but that’s not why he’s here. Technically he didn’t get the chance to do anything to them, since we stepped in. He’ll be on trial for conspiring with Corypheus’ Hunters, and also for trying to kill me. The castle is somebody else’s issue, and the mages signed themselves over to him in the first place anyways.”

Dorian couldn’t for the life of him tell whether or not the man was serious. His face did seem entirely open, but no one actually wears their true feelings in public. No one looks so sincere if they have any kind of power, lest they have it snatched away immediately. Admittedly, any assassin sent to end the dear Inquisitor would have quite the time of it, but there are always scandals and blackmail to think of. If the Inquisitor himself wouldn’t listen, his ambassador and spymaster would. 

“I don’t need to have an entire history lesson on the man,” The Inquisitor continued, oblivious of his suspicious thoughts. “But do you think he actually supports Corypheus?”

This must be some trick. Dorian couldn’t see the trigger for this trap, but he didn’t need to know every detail to sense it was there. Still, to leave the question unanswered would be foolish. It was, at least, a well-set trap. 

“Truly, I don’t. This is the kind of thing Alexius opposed, at least, when I knew him. I believe the only reason he allied with the Hunters was to save his son. Now that you’ve done that, I don’t imagine he has any sort of commitment to them at all.”

He seemed to consider that for a moment, then nodded. “Alright. Thank you, Altus Pavus. That’s very helpful.”

The stunned mage watched the Inquisitor make his way out of the library. Was that some kind of… test? Did he pass said test? Was the spymaster about to drop from the rafters, dagger in hand, and assassinate him? Who could know? He glanced up towards the rookery. There were worse ways to go, at least. Though he couldn’t think of them, at the moment.

It was almost tempting to chase after the man, but he was broken out of his thoughts by Felix’s return. 

He sat in the chair by Dorian. “The Inquisitor? What did he need?”

“I’m not entirely certain.” He shook himself out his his thoughts and changed the subject. “Now, where were we?”

Felix would find out soon enough. This wasn’t something he needed to worry about just yet.

~~~~~~~

The Hunter decided he’d better not ask Felix about this. He walked down the cold stone stairs to the dungeon. Felix probably wouldn’t appreciate being prodded over the fate of his father, no matter how he asked his questions. Besides, it would be more productive to just ask Alexius himself. The guard was more than willing to open the door for him when he asked. 

There was only one guard in the dungeon proper, and she was glad to step out a moment to give them some privacy. It was freezing down here, given the hole in the floor leading out to the open air they couldn’t patch without an engineer for fear of collapsing half the castle. The cells were all empty, save for one. 

It was padded enough to keep the prisoner it held from freezing to death before his judgement, but it was still clearly a prison cell. The cot at least held several thick blankets, but that aside there was only a rough table and a matching chair. He would survive here, but not comfortably.

Gereon Alexius looked out at him through the bars.”The Inquisitor himself graces me with his presence. I’m humbled, and honored.”

“Alexius.”

The man looked terrible. The dignity he’d held himself with at Redcliffe seemed to be drained from the man entirely. He didn’t lean against the wall while he sat in the bed, he slumped against it. Despite that, the Hunter got the impression he wasn’t as feeble as he looked. No one accomplished what he accomplished without a will of steel.

“Have you come to gloat, Inquisitor?”

“I came to talk to you about your trial.”

“I see. So, what’s to happen? Am I to be executed? Trussed up and sent to Corypheus as a gift? Made Tranquil, perhaps?”

The Hunter winced. If it were up to him he would ban Tranquility altogether. No, that was something he would never inflict on another. Death was more merciful. “That’s what I came to talk with you about.”

“Oh? You don’t want to unveil it from your throne as you preside over your adoring followers?” He’d probably meant for it to be mocking, but it just came out tired and defeated. 

“He’s going to be alright.”

“Hmm?”

“Your son. Felix. He’s going to be alright. The treatments he’s getting are working now. In time he should make a full recovery.”

The former Magister couldn’t hide the relief that plastered itself across his face. “He’ll live? You’re certain?”

“As much as I can be. The outward symptoms are almost gone, and I’m told the Blight is nearly scrubbed from his blood. In a few months time, you’d never know he was sick at all.”

“Then I care not with what happens to me so long as my son lives. He is not responsible for my decisions. I will await your judgement, Inquisitor.”

That was what Dorian had said, too. He acted for his son, not for himself and not for Corypheus.

“Thank you, Alexius.” He’d gotten all he needed from here. Now all he needed to do was speak with Josephine. The sooner he could get this over with, the better.

~~~~~~~

“I told you, I don’t know much. There’s to be a judgement today, over that Magister. No one’s sure what he’ll do. He hasn’t done this before, or shown any interest in it.”

“Yeah, yeah, you don’t know. But what do you think will happen?” Sera, leaning back on a chair with her feet up on the chair next to her, prodded the man next to her. Warden this and warden that, but he was a people person deep down.

“What did I just say? I don’t know, and you don’t know either or you wouldn’t be asking me.” He was in his own chair across the table, back straight and boots to the floor. He certainly blended in with the few soldiers in the tavern a good deal more than she did. That was fine by her.

“He didn’t want to talk about it, really. I think he just wants to get it over with.”

“My money’s on execution.” Bull thumped down at the end of the table. “No one would argue. He used to be a Magister. Even if he’s not anymore, plenty here still want him dead for that.”

“Just don’t say that too close to his loved ones.” Blackwall glanced over to see if the mage was at his usual barstool for the night. Seeing he wasn’t, he continued. “They were in here this morning all in a fuss. His son and… the other one. Neither of them stayed long.”

“Because even if he’s just judging a prisoner, it’s a Tevinter prisoner. A good number of people here expect him to decide just on that. If he lets the man go, they’ll think he’s allied with them. If he kills the man, they’ll think he’s firmly against them. I doubt he’s considered any of that, but I’ll bet his ambassador sure is sweating over it.” Bull knocked back his drink and raised a hand for another.

“And you think he’ll kill him?” Would he? It bothered her that she didn’t know. He’d never mentioned anything about this.

“I think if he hadn’t already been down, he’d have killed the man on the spot. Fighters like that don’t back down.” Bull took the drink from the barmaid with a grin and waited until she’d gone to let it go. “He’ll want to finish what he’s started. Not the first I’ve met like that, but he’s definitely one of the most determined.”

Sukest had been nowhere to be found all morning and she didn’t expect that to change.   
She would just have to wait until the fact. It was only a few hours, yeah?

Those few hours went by faster than she’d thought they would. There weren’t as many people in the grand hall as she’d expected. He wouldn’t have wanted many, now that she thought about it. She slid through the crowd up to Djura.

“Bull thinks execution. You?” She glanced up at him.

“I can’t say for certain. He’s hardly what I’d call merciful, but he’s been known to pull surprises.” Djura’s eye was on Sukest. 

They’d left the grown throne in. She’d half expected them to uproot it and bring in some big gold and velvet thing, but the ancient tree stump remained. She’d thought it was carved when they’d first gotten here, but it was like the tree was made of putty and someone had just pulled it into a sort of throne shape. A rounded, mossy throne, but a pretty one nonetheless. Sukest looked like he belonged there. The old bark was pale in some spots just like him, and the entire thing looked both incredibly out of place and exactly like it belonged there.

“Never thought he’d actually agree to sit there. Figured they’d have to bribe him.” 

Djura grinned. “For all we know, they have. Ah, I believe we’re getting started.”

The doors to the hall opened, and between four soldiers walked the Magister. He didn’t look much like the Magister he used to. Now he just looked like a sad old man being led along a carpet in shackles. Sukest looked down at the man with an expression she didn’t recognize.

“Gereon Alexius.” 

He didn’t speak any louder than normal, but even from where she was she could hear him clearly. No doubt the rest of the crowd could too.

Josephine cleared her throat and read, “Gereon Alexius, you stand before the Inquisitor charged with apostasy, attempted enslavement, and attempted murder. How do you plead?”

“Guilty,” rasped the man. He kept his eyes to the floor.

“Will you offer nothing in your defense?”

“No. I await my judgement.” He looked up now to Sukest. She couldn’t see his face very well from where she was and scowled.

“Alexius,” said Sukest, leaning forwards. “You have served Corypheus’ Hunters, whether knowingly or not. You have made an attempt on not only my life, but the lives of those with me at the time.”

Sera had never heard him speak this way before. Right now? Right now he looked scary, looked almost like one of those Hunters everyone said he was. His voice was not loud, but it was firm and nearly a growl. She was beginning to think Bull was right. This trial wouldn’t be very long after all.

“You have done these things and everything else in your power to save your son.”

What? What was he on about?

“I will not kill a man for that.” he said, gently now. “Alexius, the magic you have researched in the past and recently performed was theoretically impossible. You will serve, under guard, as a researcher for all things magical under the Inquisition.”

He settled back in his chair, and for a moment the room was silent. Seeing he was done, Josephine cleared her throat again. She too had been caught off guard. “Very well. Thank you.”

She nodded to the guards, and they took the man back out of the hall the way they’d come. Sera lost sight of Sukest in the following commotion. Oh, she was going to have words with him about this. He was going to let the Magister stay here? In the castle?! 

Cassandra, across the hall, didn’t look much happier than she was. The Seeker was scowling something fierce. Sera wasn’t the only one that was going to have a few words, then. Varric, who had come up next to her sometime while Sukest was talking, nudged her.

“Look.”

She followed his gaze over to where the other two Tevinters were standing. She couldn’t hear them from here, but one had nearly collapsed on the other. In relief? That was the son Sukest had mentioned, right? 

The other one was carefully leading him out of the hall, probably back to the library. That was where they usually were, and thus where Sera never was. 

“See?” Varric offered her a smile. “It’s not all bad.”

Did she look that angry? She was mad, sure, but not that mad. 

“Well, I’ll be damned.” Bull stared after the Magister, then scanned the room. 

Djura laughed. “Pay up, big guy. I win.”

“The two of you were betting and you didn’t let me in on it?” Varric gave them a look of mock offense. “How could you?”

“It’s nothing personal.” Djura grinned at him. “I’d just rather take his money than yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 100% forgot about Alexius there for a bit. Next, Crestwood!


	49. here comes dat boi

Crestwood was looking to be a rather bleak place. It wasn’t a particularly populated part of Ferelden, with only the occasional farmhouse proving anyone lived here at all. 

The land seemed almost grey here, as though it were overcast despite the sun being clear in the sky. The Hunter just hoped the sun stayed out. He’d seen enough rain in Thedas to last him a lifetime. 

“You can still see the effects the Blight here. Ten years gone, and yet traces of it still linger.” Cassandra rode next to him on her usual mount, her eyes on the road ahead. 

“Is that why everything looks so dull here?”

“In part. Winter will be settling in shortly. We can only hope they were able to complete their harvest before the undead came.”

“There were undead further south, too. Is this a common problem?”

“Not usually, but it has become a much larger problem because of the rifts.”

“We could do something about those while we’re here, at least.” It seemed strange to make an entire trip just to meet a few people. The least he could do was help the ones who lived here while he was in the area.

“Leliana’s scouts say one of the rifts is under the lake. It’s where most of the undead seem to be coming from.”

Under the lake? Well. “Looks like I’ll be going swimming, then.”

“...I can never tell if you’re serious, Inquisitor.”

“Completely.” He grinned. “Closing rifts is my job. What’s a lake to me?”

“Last I checked it was hardly a puddle you can splash about in.” Dorian sat up from the wagon behind them, wiping the sleep from his eyes. “Remind me again why I’m here?”

“Solas came down with something, had to stay behind, but I’d like have a friendly mage nearby in case the Anchor decides to eat me.”

“Does it do that often?”

“It used to. Hasn’t in a while, but that could change. It has new colors now, that has to mean something.”

“When did that happen?” Cassandra raised an eyebrow. 

“While I was down in the swamp. Had a strange reaction while I was fighting a demon and it’s been different ever since. It doesn’t hurt or anything, it’s just multicolored sometimes.”

Dorian laid back down, vanishing from view. “Do let me know if that changes. If I’m meant to be keeping you alive, I’d like a decent chance at it. You get into enough trouble as it is.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Cassandra looked back at the group behind them. “Where has Varric gone?”

She’d spent most of the trip expecting him to slip away. “He went up to ask about our timing. Who do you think we’re going to meet that would have him run off?”

“Someone he claimed he could not contact. I will reserve judgement until I see for myself, but I can hardly think of anyone else it could be. If it is who I think it is,” she added, “I will wring his neck.”

They were meeting multiple people here. One was someone who could rip out hearts the way he could and another was a Hunter, but supposedly there was a third. Varric had been rather tight lipped about the whole thing so far. 

“We’ll see this afternoon. Should only be a few more hours, barring anything disastrous.”

For once nothing disastrous happened and they made it to the Inquisition’s area camp with plenty of time before nightfall. The town was a short ways to the east, but they spent the night in the camp before they went. What was one more evening of suspense?

Early the next morning he woke to find that Varric was already up. The dwarf looked up from whatever was he was writing as the Hunter approached. 

“Good morning. Ready for an early start?”

“We aren’t waiting for the others?”

“Nah, the town isn’t too far. Besides, having the Seeker with us won’t exactly be conducive to negotiations.”

Were they negotiating? And what was wrong with Cassandra? He thought she was just fine. “If you say so.”

The dwarf was right, the town wasn’t far and the walk was quiet. Unsettlingly quiet, truthfully, without much wildlife in the area. 

The town, a village really, wasn’t much louder. It was hardly more than a small group of buildings in the center of a cluster of farms. Enough people came through to have an inn, at least, and that was where Varric led him. 

He didn’t even have time to look around the room before he was lifted into a bone-crushing hug. 

“Sukest! It’s so good to see you!” The Executioner set him down gently. “Terribly sorry, I just couldn’t resist. I hear you’ve been having problems with your memory?”

The Hunter took a moment to catch his breath. Between having the air squeezed out of him and seeing another familiar face, the wind was well knocked out of him. Alfred looked ecstatic to see him, more so than usual, but it had been a while. 

Varric looked between them. “Sounds like the two of you have some catching up to do.”

“You must be Varric, then.” Alfred smiled at him. “They’re waiting for us upstairs.”

‘They’ turned out to be an elf with unnaturally pale, nearly luminous hair in dark armor, and a man who must be Varric’s other friend. He was taller than his companion, with dark hair and a stripe of blood red paint across the bridge of his nose. 

“Hawke! It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

That must be his name, then. Why did it sound familiar? The man turned from where he was speaking with his companion and a broad grin split his face as he stood to hug the dwarf. “Varric! It’s good to see you. This must be the Inquisitor.”

The Hunter gave a bow. “In the flesh.” 

“It’s an honor. Fenris, come say hello and be honored.” He didn’t sound serious at all. The Hunter liked him already. 

The elf who must be Fenris stood from his seat at the room’s small table, but didn’t look very honored. “Inquisitor.”

Varric laughed. “Good to see you haven’t changed, Broody.”

Fenris only sighed. “We brought your… Alfred, with us.” 

‘It had better have been worth it’, his expression said. Had they run into trouble on the road? Now that he thought about it, the trouble could have been Alfred. His friend wasn’t always the most… tactful person to travel with.

Hawke looked the Hunter up and down. “So, is it true what they say? That you’re a Hunter?”

“I have all the pieces for it.” He lifted a part of his feather cloak. “I’ve yet to see anyone else wear something like this.”

“That does seem to be a constant.” Hawke glanced between the two Hunters. “If you can’t tell from the dried blood and nasty weapons, just see what they’re wearing. Do you think I could make a decent spy if I wrapped myself in window drapes?”

“I don’t see why not. Just walk like you belong and I doubt anyone will stop you.”

“Someone write this down, we’re planning a heist.” Hawke grinned and looked around mockingly for paper and something to write with. This man could come to the Inquisition whenever he wanted. 

~~~~~~~

There was something about the Hunter in white, Alfred, that just rubbed him the wrong way. Varric couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but clearly he was not the only one to notice. Both Broody and Hawke kept a careful eye on him, even if they were casual about it. He knew those two well enough to know when they were uncomfortable — even Fenris, even through his scowling mask of neutral displeasure 

If Flighty noticed there was something strange about the guy, he didn’t show it. He only sat across from the man and listened to him chatter on about… anything, really. Alfred seemed to be a touchy-feely person, though the behavior seemed reserved for one person in particular. 

Djura had said they were friends once, but maybe they had been a bit closer? Despite the casual contact, he didn’t seem to be behaving particularly romantically. It was hard to say exactly what he was expecting, but Alfred seemed content with what little touch he received in return. 

Everything was going well, weird Hunter aside, until Hawke looked out the window and turned back with a grimace. “That Seeker of yours wouldn’t happen to have short hair and a Tevinter mage, would she?”

“Andraste’s tits. And here I figured we’d have more time, since Sparkler snuck out for a drink or ten last night. Well, I’ll leave the four of you to chat while I go say hello.”

He pushed his chair in and went downstairs. It was going to be difficult to come up with a reason for this, but he’d been in worse spots before. Besides, if he started shouting murder he could count on Hawke to come barreling down the stairs to save him. Ah, just like old times. 

~~~~~~~

There had been something there, in that Dream, something powerful that he could not see. It had watched him while he was there, and watched him even now. 

To say Solas had not slept well recently would be an understatement. The feeling of unseen eyes on his back did not lend much to relaxation. Most assumed he had fallen ill, and he said nothing otherwise. There was little he could do but wait to see if his observer lost interest. He did most of his waiting in the room he’d claimed for himself, away from prying eyes.

“She won’t hurt you.”

“Cole.” He stood from his desk chair. When had the spirit arrived?

“She’s very curious about you. You were the first to come inside uninvited, and she wants to know how you did it.” The spirit closed the door behind him, but hovered near it nervously. 

“If I do it again, will she be satisfied?” It was, perhaps, not the best idea, to grant an unseen being’s wishes, but the mage was low on options and, though he was loathe to admit it, rather desperate.

Cole considered that for a moment. “I don’t think so. She can move too, but she wants to know how you can. Seeing it again won’t help her.”

“Who is she?”

“The moon.”

If the answer was strange or cryptic, Cole clearly didn’t think so. The… moon. There certainly was a spectacular moonlit sky in the Dream, but could the moon truly watch him? It was strange to see the moon so clearly in his dreams when it was usually a distant detail to the scene at hand. Could there a spirit who had taken such a liking to the moon that they emulated it with all their being?

Cole tilted his head. “She’s not… like that. She doesn’t pretend to be the moon, she is the moon.”

Solas had already closed the shutters for the night, but he unlatched them and pulled them open to see the night sky. The moon was waxing, but not full yet. It seemed the same as it always had, and the unseen presence watching him did not wax or wane with the moonlight. 

“Not that moon.” He said it offhandedly, as if it were something obvious that the mage ought to know already.

“Which moon, then?” It was difficult to remain calm, the edges of the mage’s concentration already fraying into frustration. 

“It wouldn’t be good to see it.” The spirit seemed genuinely confused by the idea of wanting to know which moon he meant.

Solas took a deep breath and let it out slowly. 

“This isn’t helping. I’m sorry.”

“It isn’t your fault, Cole. Thank you for trying.”

The spirit seemed unconvinced, but slipped off nonetheless. Solas closed the shutters once he’d gone. To miss time he could spend in the fade was annoying to say the least, but if he wasn’t getting any sleep tonight he may as well find a way to occupy himself. The library seemed as good a place as any. At least there he might find something to occupy his mind.

He found Djura before he found the library, passing though the main hall. The veteran, arms full of paper, seemed surprised to see him. 

“And here I thought you spent all your nights dreaming.”

“Sleep does not always come easily.”

Djura offered a tired smile. “I suppose I can understand that. If you’ve nothing in particular in mind for your night, I have a few questions regarding enchantments.”

“It is hardly my area of expertise, but I see no harm in sharing what little I know.”

They went down to the forge, and Solas got his first look at Djura’s second project. He had seen the hammer all throughout its development, but he wasn’t sure what this second contraption was meant to be. 

It looked to be a large metal barrel, mounted on a pair of upright beams on a base that was likely temporary. The barrel would likely pivot if he pushed on it, though he didn’t dare test the theory without knowing more about it. 

“It’ll be a sight to see once it’s done.” Djura regarded the contraption fondly. “It will take some time, but it’ll be worth every hour.”

The nearby table was covered in carefully shaped metal parts. Some had already been fitted into the barrel, but that portion was small indeed. 

“You had questions?”

“Yes.” The veteran leaned back on the table. “How do your enchantments work, exactly? Is it a spell cast on something and made to linger? Are they sigil or rune based, or just… there?”

“Enchantments are held together by carefully etched Lyrium runes. An enchantment can be set without Lyrium, but it will be temporary. More often than not the Circles have the Tranquil perform their enchantments due to their magical resistance. They are also the only mages who can safely work with Lyrium.”

“Ah, so that’s it. No one lobotomizes that many people unless they can serve a specific purpose. These enchantments can be sold, I presume?”

“They can, and an enchanted weapon or piece of armor can be sold for a small fortune.” If his memory served, it was how the Circles received much of their funding.

“I would imagine so,” muttered the veteran. “Tell me, can Tranquility be cured?”

“It would not be nearly so effective a method of control if there were a process of reversal.”

“I don’t suppose it would.” Clearly the idea soured his mood, but the man seemed determined not to let it linger. “Are all enchantments done by the Tranquil?”

“Orzammar’s runesmiths are well-known for their quality enchantments as well.”

“The dwarven city, yes? It isn’t terribly far from where they are, if I’ve read the maps right. Do we already have trade lines with them?”

“Orzammar provides the Inquisition with its supply of Lyrium.”

“Which made the Chantry angry, or scared, depending. Josephine mentioned it the other day. She wanted the Commander to send extra soldiers to guard the shipments.”

“Did he?”

“The papers say he did. Whether or not he was the one to write them, well, who can say?”

He didn’t have many more questions, only a few regarding the types of enchantment and whether multiple enchantments could be layered onto one object. 

“If you wouldn’t mind, Djura, I have a few questions of my own.”

“Of course. I will answer as well as I can.”

“Several nights ago, I walked through somewhere rather interesting in my dreams. A garden, or perhaps it was a graveyard, with what could only be described as a workshop.” It was a risk to reveal what he knew, but one he couldn’t leave alone.

“... ah. I didn’t realize you could find that place, even if you walk in dreams. Should have expected it. Nothing here works the way I think it will. What questions do you have for me?” Surprised, but not terribly so, he seemed more weary than anything else.

“I was not the only one there. The Inquisitor arrived shortly after I did, but even before that there was one other. A porcelain doll, roughly eight feet in height. What do you know of her?” It could be her watching him, despite Cole’s earlier words.

“She is…hmm.” He thought for a moment. “Kind, and gentle. The Doll tends to the Dream, and to the Hunters within it.”

“How many Hunters live in the dream as the Inquisitor does?”

“Right now? I would expect it’s just Sukest. You may have guessed, but I used to Dream too. So did Eileen.”

He expected as much.. “And that is why the three of you once shared the same abilities?”

“Yes. The Dream grants power, a means to survive the Hunt. These days I don’t have much left at all, but Sukest is still in his prime. He’ll be making use of those opportunities more than I ever did.”

“The workshop there — is that where Sukest received his runes?” The Inquisitor hadn’t said so, but he had been known to withhold certain details.

“I expect so. I can’t think where else he would have gotten them. Yharnam is… unkind to outsiders at best. It’s difficult enough to survive, much less find a brand.”

“Do you have runes as well, then?”

“I used to. Still do, I suppose, despite my best efforts.”

“Your best efforts?”

“See for yourself.” Djura allowed Solas a look at the back of his neck. Where Sukest had runes, Djura had a thick mess of scar tissue.

“You removed them?”

“That’s what I was going for. I was finished Hunting and wanted nothing more to do with it. The physical marks are gone, but the effects remain. I still remember the shapes as I have since I received them — I can sketch them out for you, if you’d like.”

“I would appreciate that. Thank you, Djura.”

He was hardly an artist, but the runes were simple shapes, and he could explain their meanings and rudimentary effects. There were three in total. The first was almost Y shaped but with more lines curving upwards, seven in total, each ending with a thick dot. The line in the center was the shortest, the others growing longer as they branched out. 

“This one is ‘Deep Sea’. It keeps things like poison from having their full effects on me, almost like a sort of shield. I’ve mostly found use for it running through burned and burning buildings. It helps keep the smoke from ruining my lungs, for the most part.”

The second he drew was a vertical pair of lines crossing back and forth over each other to form several diamonds, with another line down through the center. Each point had a dot a short distance away from it. 

“This is ‘Heir’. Hmm… how to explain this one? Hunters draw power from blood, as I’m sure you’ve seen.”

“Indeed I have.” The Inquisitor used it to heal himself at times.

“You have seen Sukest put holes in a few beasts with just his fist, haven’t you? Makes quite the mess.”

“I have.” It was one of the more unsettling aspects of having a Hunter for an Inquisitor.

“This rune adds a measure of… sentimentality, I suppose, to the gesture. The first Hunters used the same technique, and it carried them through their Hunt. I had hoped it would do the same for me. A Hunter draws power by shedding the blood and taking the lives of others. Were I to attack something so viscerally, so personally, I would gain more power than most others — though it would not heal me as it does Sukest.”

“What sort of power does a Hunter gain from killing?”

“Almost any power they like. Enhanced strength and speed are the most common effects of it. Some, like Sukest, take the skills of the fallen. I doubt he’d know half of what he does were that not possible.”

To take the power and knowledge of the dead… Solas had heard of few and met fewer who even attempted such a feat.

Djura offered a wry, tired smile. “I’m not entirely sure how it works, said about all I know. Makes fighting a Hunter a tad bit more intimidating, ey?”

“Admittedly, yes.” It was another thing he needed to investigate. If a Hunter could learn what their prey knew, then the Inquisition’s scouts could be more of a liability than an asset. He should speak with Micolash as soon as possible once he shed his unseen observer.

“Worry not, my fighting days are behind me. I’ll not go about spilling blood for power.” He leaned back over the table. “But you asked about runes. Let’s finish one subject before moving on, shall we?”

“Let’s.”

The third rune was a sort of star, with the center curved to form a rough eye shape.

“This is one I stole from the Choir back in my heyday. They weren’t terribly happy about it, but there was nothing they could do about it. Supposedly it allows a kind of… ascension, is their word for it. They believe that gaining some sort of extra sight is the first step to surpassing the limits of humanity. I’ve never found anything wrong with being human, but it’s useful all the same.”

More to ask Micolash about. Perhaps he could learn directly? If the scholar could read the minds of the Choir, could he teach others to do the same? “What are the practical applications?”

“To put it simply, I can find things easier. It isn’t quite better sight, I can’t see further than I used to or anything like that, but I’ve found it’s given me a knack for finding hidden things and places. Call it intuition, or a sixth sense. It’s made a good number of things much easier.”

“I would agree. You have only these three?”

“I do. Sukest has four because one of his is an Oath.” He answered the mage’s question before it was asked.

“What sort of Oath?”

“It binds him to the Hunters of Hunters. The symbol of their organization. I haven’t seen for myself, but I would wager Eileen has the same one. Now, is there anything else I can tell you?”

Solas considered, just for a moment, telling the old Hunter of the strange presence he’d felt all week. It was possible he knew something. But then, it was just as likely he didn’t. Instead he waved a hand towards the large mounted barrel. “What is the function of this? What will it be?”

Djura grinned. “I’m so glad you asked. Allow me to teach you the majesty of the mounted Gatling gun.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i spent entirely too long trying to decide what runes to give him (eye aside), but hopefully i've chosen well.  
> see y'all next week :3


	50. rip in pepperoni

The Hunter was on his feet at the first sign of a ruckus downstairs and halfway to the stairs before anyone could ask what was wrong. 

To say that Cassandra was mad would be a gross understatement. She was furious. Enraged. Very fucking angry. Take your pick. 

“You conniving little shit,” she hissed as she swung at the dwarf. Varric ducked under her hand and hustled back to take cover behind a table. “You knew! You knew where he was this whole time!”

“He’s here now, isn’t he?! We’re on the same side!”

The Hunter looked between the two of him. Varric was the first to notice and promptly chose to use him as a hiding spot when Cassandra started after him. Dorian, who was standing quietly at the door, looked a mix of intrigued, exhausted, and entirely unwilling to interfere. 

“What exactly is this about?”

If Cassandra was surprised to see him, she didn’t show it. “He knew where Hawke was all along,” she spat, “And kept him away from us when we needed him!”

The Hunter, admittedly, didn’t know very much about Hawke. He must be important somehow. Someone would explain it eventually. “Why were you looking for him?”

“We needed someone to lead the Inquisition. First, we searched for the Hero of Ferelden — but he was nowhere to be found. Then we searched for Hawke, and we thought him unreachable.” She glared at Varric with a look that would kill most people. “But it was you all along.” 

“Not to interrupt,” said Hawke from the base of the stairs, “but would you mind if I interrupted?”

Varric said nothing, but his face said ‘that is my salvation and key to leaving this room alive by the stairs right now how can I get there.’ Given Cassandra’s face, he probably had the right idea. She looked nothing short of starstruck at the man’s appearance. Just who was Hawke to get a reaction like that?

He could see Alfred peeking down the stairs as well, but the Executioner glanced back up before he disappeared back around the corner. Fenris must have called him back. The Hunter glanced back to the terrified innkeeper and gave a the man a sympathetic smile. Poor man. 

“How about we all sit down?” And not break any furniture? Please?

“I think that’s a fantastic idea. The two of you can come down,” Hawke called up the stairs. A second later Alfred appeared with Fenris just behind him. 

The Hunter lifted a fallen table off the ground and scarcely avoided throwing it. It would take a bit to get used to his new strength. He made sure to set it down gently. 

“If it’s about who leads, he can have it. I told you when I stepped up,” he added at the looks he got from most people in the room, “that I didn’t want to be Inquisitor. I don’t know how to lead an army, let alone an army of the faithful. If Hawke knows how, he can go ahead.”

Hawke looked to be having some serious regrets about coming. The man must not want to lead any more than the Hunter himself. Cassandra spoke before either of them could. 

“No. No, I do not…” She took a deep breath before letting it out slowly. “None of us regret that you are our leader. I only wish you had not been forced to lead against your will. If you will excuse me...”

No one stopped her as she left, and the innkeeper’s relief was nearly audible. Varric’s sigh actually was audible. Why? She was angry, but she hadn’t physically harmed him. Even if she were to strike, it would not be to kill. Cassandra wouldn’t kill him out of anger alone.

“She seems nice.” Hawke looked at the door she’d gone through the way someone might look at an angry bear that lost interest in them and wandered away at the last moment. 

The Hunter looked down at Varric.

“We’ll talk about this later,” he said, already on his way to the door to look for Cassandra. 

Luckily for him, she hadn’t gone far. She stood within sight of the inn’s door, clearly still angry but rapidly cooling down. He wasn’t quite sure what to say, but she’d already noticed him. He couldn’t just leave again. 

“I am… sorry.” She uncrossed her arms and took a deep breath. “I did not meant to imply I am unhappy to have you as Inquisitor — quite the opposite, in fact. I may not agree with all of your decisions, but I have and will continue to support them.”

He wasn’t quite sure what he had expected, but it hadn’t been an apology. “Thank you for that. I wouldn’t have been able to do half of what I’ve done here without your support.”

In all honesty, he probably would have left the Inquisition before it began had she not brought him to the Haven Chantry. He might never have known it was there at all. What would he have done had they not found him? He shook the thought away. This was not the time for it.

“I am serious though, Cassandra. Hawke is welcome to the position. I don’t know who he is, but he must have done something important.”

Cassandra laughed. He hadn’t expected that reaction, and found himself at a loss about what to do. “I wasn’t sure at first, whether or not you were the right person to lead us, but I am now.”

“What makes you say that?”

“There are those who would kill for your position, you know. Those who would die before they abdicated the position..and yet, here you are. You try to give your power away. The last thing you want to do is hoard power for yourself. That is why I believe you are the best Inquisitor we could have.”

“I can’t say I agree, but… thank you.” What else could he say? She didn’t seem to expect anything more, and only smiled at him. Maybe that was alright, then.

The door to the inn cracked open and Alfred peeked out. “Are you both alive…? Ah, excellent!”

“Who might you be?”

“My name is Alfred. You must be Seeker Pentaghast? I heard about you on the way here.”

“You are the Hunter they brought with them?”

“I am an Executioner, my lady, following in the footsteps of Master Logarius. It is a pleasure to meet you.” He bowed deeply, perhaps more so than necessary.

“Likewise.” She seemed unsure if it really was, but at least she was being nice. 

“Might we go back inside? The others are quite anxious.”

“I’ve no objections.” The Hunter smoothed out the ruffled feathers on his cloak and glanced at Cassandra.

She sighed. “Let’s go, then.”

The furniture had been righted again, much to the innkeeper’s relief. Their companions had pushed a pair of tables together as well and were seated around them. 

Cassandra took a seat far from Varric to avoid the temptation of finishing what she’d started, and the Hunter sat beside her. Fenris raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. What was his deal?

Hawke looked around the table. “Well now. I hear you’ve been asking about me for quite some time. Terribly sorry I couldn’t make it earlier.”

“It’s quite alright.” The Hunter grinned. “My invitation stands until someone other than me says so.”

“Can someone other than you say so, Inquisitor?”

“I have no idea.” 

Hawke laughed. “I think I’ll take you up on that, then. I’m wondering if there’s any particular reason I’ve been summoned. Varric, was there anything in particular you needed? Not that your company isn’t reason enough to drag myself across Thedas, old friend.”

The dwarf pointedly fixed his eyes on the table. “I told you we had more information on the threat at hand, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did. You were frustratingly vague about the whole thing. Any particular reason for that?”

“I thought it would be better if we discussed it in person.”

“What kind of threat requires that?” Hawke stroked his beard thoughtfully and somewhat mockingly. “There isn’t another Blight, is there? The last one was awful. Wasn’t it awful, Fenris?”

Fenris grunted, possibly in agreement. Possibly not. The Hunter couldn’t be sure.

“It’s Corypheus.” Hawke’s grin dropped the moment Varric said the name, replaced by surprise, then realization, then anger as the dwarf continued. “He’s back, Hawke.”

“How? How?! We killed him!” He slammed his fist on the table. “He was dead on the floor!”

“Hawke.” Fenris set a hand on the man’s arm. It had more of a calming effect than the Hunter expected. “I don’t know why he’s back now, but we killed him once and we can do it again.”

So this was what Hawke was known for. Was Corypheus a known being? “When did you last encounter him?”

“We left him dead on the floor of an old Warden fortress in Vimmark. I thought it would be the last of him. Most things are dead when they die, you know, but there’s always a few. Are you sure it was Corypheus? Have you seen him, personally?”

“About three times my height, with weird shoulders and crystals growing out of him, right? He threw me against a trebuchet during his mad ranting about being a god. I’m pretty sure it was him.”

“And you survived?” The surprise in his voice was greater than the Hunter expected.

“I shot him in the face, too. He wasn’t terribly happy about that.”

“Right, you Hunters have… guns, you said?” 

Alfred nodded enthusiastically. “Sukest is a fantastic shot! I’ve seen him hit his mark streets away from the rooftops!”

The Hunter tried not to blush at the compliment. He’d forgotten just how… much Alfred could be. Varric watched him oddly, as though he saw something the Hunter did not, but said nothing. 

“If you don’t mind me asking, why Crestwood? Was there something here of particular interest?” Cassandra asked a good question. Rifts aside, there really wasn’t much here. 

“That’s my fault, I’m afraid,” was Alfred’s sheepish admission. “We were in Redcliffe, but I heard of the troubles faced by the people here and wanted to lend a hand. I’m glad we came when we did. If we’d been any later, the undead would have been in the village proper.”

Were things that bad here? “I don’t see why we can’t help while we’re here. Most of the undead come from the lake, don’t they? If we close the rift there, we could put a stop to them.”

“From what I can tell, the rift is at the bottom of the lake. How well can you swim?” Hawke leaned back in his chair, doing everything in his power to keep this meeting casual. Thankfully, it seemed to be working. 

“Thankfully, the Seeker and I have found a solution.” Dorian had been surprisingly quiet until now. Varric said he’d gone out for a drink the night before. Perhaps he was hungover? “While you were chatting with your new friends, we paid the Mayor a visit and learned something rather useful. There’s an old fort nearby that protects the controls to the dam. They might even be functioning.”

“So we can just… drain the lake? Don’t they use that?” They must at least fish out of it. But then, it was full of undead at the moment. The Hunter didn’t know what the rifts could do to fish. Most people probably wouldn’t eat them, if there were any to begin with.

“Not at the moment.” Alfred’s voice had not lost its light tone. “With the corpses in it the lake is rather useless to them.”

“Where are all the bodies coming from? They must be on the lakebed, but it seems odd to have so many there.”

“That’s something else we learned from the charming Mayor.” The way Dorian said it led the Hunter to believe the Mayor hadn’t been charming at all. “The village proper used to be where the lake is now. It flooded during the Blight without much warning.”

“There’s a village down there?” It would explain the bodies, but… “How?”

“The darkspawn damaged the controls for the dam. Supposedly they’ve been repaired since then, as I said before. Let’s hope they have.”

At least the fort was easy to find. Caer Bronach was situated at the top of a hill, in what might have been a defensible position if the attacking party hadn’t contained not one, but two Hunters. 

The only thing left in the way was the door. The Hunter tapped the thick wood and banded metal. “Think there’s another way inside?”

“I think the door will suit just fine.” Alfred drew his sword and seated it in the hammer on his back. “Just give the word, my friend.”

Whatever the door had been built to withstand, it was insufficient when faced with a Hunter. It only took him three swings with his kirkhammer before the door splintered and fell inwards. 

He gave a bow and swept an arm towards the now empty doorway. “After you.”

The looks on his companion’s faces were similar to his own the first time he’d seen someone use a kirkhammer. They were impossibly heavy and he hadn’t thought them practical at first glance, but with enough strength they could be extraordinarily effective. 

If the bandits hadn’t noticed their approach, they certainly noticed the door falling down in splinters. The guard at the gate had been dozing, but stood now and lifted his bow. 

He never got the chance to fire it. Hawke lifted the stave he’d retrieved from their room at the inn and cooked the man. That was enough to bring several of the others in the courtyard to a halt, but not all of them. 

It was rather clear that the majority of them were inexperienced. They’d taken the chance amongst the chaos of the undead to grab for power, but few offered any real challenge to someone with a good sword. The Hunter snapped his mask on. 

Their armor was shit, too. It was a simple matter to take a few steps forwards and unlatch the Saif to decapitate the nearest, then catch the next as he spun. He heard the wet crunch of the Kirkhammer finding a target behind him. 

There weren’t nearly as many as he was expecting. The Hunter rushed into the main door the bandits had left open and met the next wave head on. The quiet but rapid footsteps behind him revealed itself to be Fenris, who slid down a side hall after a pair of fleeing archers. Cassandra made it her mission to take on the lone mage at the top of the stairs. Without her magic, the young mage was little threat to her. 

Someone was throwing fire up from the courtyard to a higher floor, but he couldn’t tell if it was Hawke or Dorian. Alfred ran ahead and the Hunter followed just a few steps behind him. 

The one who must have been the leader was hardly any better than the rest. Heavier armor wasn’t much help against the fire being launched from below. It was a mercy when the Kirkhammer met the bulky helmet. He must have been boiling in there. 

The Hunter stopped to catch his breath and surveyed his surroundings. “Is that the last of them?”

“I’d say so.” Alfred hefted the hammer onto his back and released the sword. “Only ones I hear left were the ones with us.”

Sure enough, the first to appear was Cassandra. A few small patches of ice decorating her armor aside, she looked no worse for wear. The others were right behind her. 

“Good to know the stories are true then.” Hawke leaned on his stave like a walking stick. “Also, you might want a bath before we go anywhere else. Wouldn’t want to scare the peasants.”

“There are stories about me?” He’d heard little snippets of people calling him a prophet and all that, but hadn’t heard any actual stories. 

“I’d imagine so. I meant stories about Hunters, actually. Fast as wind and dark as night they say. Also drenched in blood. I’d expected that part to the the exaggeration. It’s a good thing I’m so used to being wrong.” He didn’t look particularly bothered, despite the warning look Fenris gave him. 

‘Don’t poke the hornet’s nest,’ his face said. Fair enough.

The Hunter pulled his mask off. “A little spatter never hurt anyone. This isn’t nearly as bad as usual.”

The mage looked to Varric for confirmation. 

“As unlikely as it sounds, it is usually worse.”

“Hmm.” Hawke considered his mask, the white of the carved wood a dull rusty color at the moment. “Still, might want to jump in the lake before we drain it.”

“I’ll consider it.” It wasn’t a bad idea, really. The lake might be cold and full of corpses, but at the moment he was moderately chilled and covered in blood. The sweet smell would be rancid soon enough. It would be better to rid himself of it before then. “Did the Mayor happen to mention where exactly the controls were?”

“I would think something so important would be labeled.” Alfred looked around at the walls. “Did we pass a marker on the way here?”

“I don’t think so? I would guess they’re close to the dam itself, down by the water. We could try the basement?”

The basement was more treacherous than it had any right to be. The bricks gave way to smooth stone rather abruptly. A rough wooden ladder led down into the cave. It was too dark to see much aside from the faint glint of water on stone. 

The Hunter tested the ladder. It was at least anchored to the flimsy wooden platform he stood on. If he was lucky the wood hadn’t rotted through.

“You aren’t seriously thinking they could be down there?” Dorian stared past him into the dark.

“There’s only one way to find out.” Once his eyes had adjusted, he could see the platform below them. It wasn’t nearly as far as he’d thought. He didn’t need the ladder at all.

“Hell, Flighty. Give a warning, will you?” Varric looked down at him from above.

The Hunter looked around the cave. It was smaller than he’d thought, and aside from the way he’d come the only way out was a small passage to the side. The air was damp and thick — the lake must be right nearby. He heard the hiss of flame, likely a fire spell cast by one of the mages for light, and someone above him shrieked. Cassandra? 

Why, why, why did he always forget to look up?

The roof of the cave was a lattice of webs and pale sacks full of either eggs or prey. He couldn’t see them clearly, but from the dark spaces above he could see the eyes of other spiders peering out at him as they advanced. This was a mistake.

He didn’t even have time to extend the Saif before he was flattened under the biggest one in the cave. It’s mandibles struck the stone next to him. Had he not moved those would have landed on his neck.

The crunch of the kirkhammer on chitin was a welcome one, and the spider startled enough for him to scramble out from under it and pull a weapon to his hand as he got his first clear look at what landed on him.

He knew it was large, but this was ridiculous. It made the spiders climbing down the walls look almost small, despite each of them being larger than the Hunter himself. It was pure white and its head was chest-height for him. The mandibles it clicked at Alfred were as thick as his arm. 

Well. This was going to be awful.

~~~~~~~

The fact he hadn’t meant to come here that made his surroundings more alarming than they had any right to be. 

Solas stood in a field of white flowers and wooden crosses. He could see what was likely the Hunter’s Workshop just over the hill, on the other side of the wrought iron fence. The gate had been closed on his last visit, but he had seen a small portion of this field before, even if he had not fully realized its scale. 

Standing between the mage and the workshop was a tree that would put any Vhenadahl to shame. It was ancient, the bark grey and petrified. The massive roots of the tree wove through the field, leaving the ground dangerously uneven. He wouldn’t be surprised if the roots were underneath even the workshop and far gardens. 

The presence he’d felt ever since he’d first discovered this place remained with him now, and it had grown stronger than ever before. It was nearly corporeal now, swirling around him like a whirlpool. The force of it nearly pushed him to his knees. It hummed and murmured, tearing his thoughts apart until the feeling of deep water crashed down on him as though it were a physical wave.

Only through the feeling of water did the words become clear. Who are you, little one? From where have you come?

It wasn’t a voice, exactly. It existed only in his thoughts, without physical sound. Distantly, he wondered if the Doll would hear if he shouted. Could she hear him now? “I am Solas.”

Solas. It tested the word carefully, then hummed. Such a small thing comes dreaming before me. You are not as the wisps are, grasping for feelings they cannot know. 

The power around him eased and left the mage gasping for air. 

So fragile. So determined to know, to understand. For what do you search? What drew you to seek this place?

To tell anything but the truth would be the end of him. “I sought the Hunter Gherman.”

No longer is he here with me. He has passed out of my grasp, though within yours he may yet remain. Farewell, Pride.

The moon, bright and staring down through him from overhead, was the last thing he saw before he woke in his own bed, bolt-upright and gasping for breath, pushed out of the Dream the way one steered a child away from something dangerous. The feeling of eyes on him was gone for the first time in days.

Even without the unsettling sensation of being watched, his mind was buzzing. The mage pushed himself out of bed. Perhaps a walk in the cool night air would help clear his head. 

~~~~~~~

“What are you?”

Valtr looked up to see the little blonde elf girl on the rafters. Sera, she was called. He hadn’t seen her much. “Apologies?”

“What are you?”

“I would say I’m a Hunter.” Was this a trick question?

“I know that.” She rolled her eyes. “I mean what are you?”

“Erm… Human, I suppose.”

She squinted down at him from her perch. “Do you have a head?”

“Yes, I do.” This wasn’t the strangest situation he’d been in, but it was approaching the list of them with surprising speed. It wasn’t every day one spoke with an elven girl as she hung from her knees off the ceiling beams. 

“Why do you wear a bucket?”

“It is a symbol of leadership among the League. One should never be ashamed to show who they are, no matter how it is shown. One day I hope my successor will wear it with pride.”

She studied him for a moment. “You’re not like I thought you’d be.”

“How did you think I was?”

“All… Hunter-y. Friggin scary they are, screamin’ and shouting for blood.”

“Ah, yes. You were in that poor village. I know it means little coming from me, but I am truly sorry for what happened that night. I was not present, but perhaps if I had stayed I could have deterred them somehow.”

“Do you know why they did it?” Her question was hesitant, like she wasn’t sure if she should ask, but her hesitation wasn’t for his sake.

“These days the bulk of them are little more than drunken hounds. That village is where they were told they could feast.” They were almost pitiable, the wretches. Could they even remember their names anymore? 

“If they’re hounds, then who’s got the leashes? They aren’t tearing everywhere apart.”

A sharp one, she was. He may have misjudged her when they first met. “I would say the Healing Church, but they’re rather headless at the moment. The Choir has likely taken charge. Has the Inquisition encountered them?”

“One. Sukest killed her.”

“I expect he did. He’s joined the crows — apologies, I’m told the Crows are an organization of a different kind here. He’s a Hunter of Hunters. Do you know what that means?”

“He goes after the bad Hunters.”

A simplistic explanation, but it would suffice. “Indeed he does. He’s rather good at it as well, if what I’ve heard is true. I’ve also heard he’s having problems with his memory?”

“Yeah. Can’t remember anything before he got here.”

Valtr sighed. “It’s a damn shame, it is. He was trying to reach the birthplace of the Healing Church last I saw him in Yharnam. If he succeeded, as I suspect he did, he’d know more than any of us on the subject. Still, even without his memory, he remembers his role. It serves the Inquisition well, having a leader trained to fight Hunters. Without him… well. There wouldn’t be much keeping the horde off this place. Their charge might fail, but they would try.”

“Are all them that afraid of him?”

“His kind have a reputation among that Hunters that is not easily forgotten. In truth it’s a blend of fact and fiction, but in this case it’s to his advantage. That, and for all they know he’s recruited others. If one of his kind can kill many of them, what could a few of his own do to an army of them?”

“What’re you, then, if he’s the one after Hunters?”

He’d explained this once before, but back in that swamp she’d likely had other things on her mind. “The League cleans up after the Hunt, and operates separately from the Healing Church. The Hunt always makes such a mess, you see. Mad doctors set up residence and vermin writhe in filth on every street. We keep those things from building up by sentencing them to death.”

“What’re the rest for, then?”

“I suppose you wouldn’t have learned much about the Hunt here. It’s hardly Djura’s favorite subject. To put it simply, the city of Yharnam is afflicted with lycanthropy. When the beasts build up, a Hunt is called to thin them out again. It’s dangerous work, but without it the city would be overrun. As you might imagine, fatalities during a Hunt are quite high. The more Hunters the Church has, the less each individual death matters to them.”

She thought about this for a while. “You’re not under the Church though?”

“Correct. The League operates separately from the rest of the Hunters. We answer to ourselves, support each other and, when the situation calls for it, contain each other. Even we are not immune to blood drunkenness, you see.”

“So you’re kind of… not-Hunters? Like, you do different things?”

“We fulfill the same purpose, though we go about it differently. See, the Hunters hunt for the sake of blood, under the guise of protecting the city. The League Hunts to exterminate Vermin and the filth they writhe in. If that means Hunting the beasts, it is what we will do. There are no beasts here, and thus we will Hunt those that writhe in filth, whether they are beasts or not.”

“Like that mage? Not a mage anymore, but…”

“Yes. She stole Scourge-infected blood from the Hunters and used it on herself. Had I not put her down, she would have spread the Scourge to others.”

“Is there a way to fix it?” She paused, thinking. “So, werewolves, right? Supposedly there was a group in a forest in Ferelden, but someone fixed them. They went back to being farmers and that. Can you do that?”

“Currently, there is no known cure. The Church forbid research into the scourge, though many still pursue it. I believe the Madaras were investigating, though they hardly had the equipment to learn anything. If you say someone here has a cure for Lycanthropy, it may be worth trying to find them.”

“I can ask Leliana if she knows about it.”

“That would be helpful. Thank you, Sera.”

She pulled herself up into the rafters and vanished, presumably to find Leliana. That, or she was about to dump something on him. Time would tell. 

Nothing came tumbling from the rafters in the next few moments, and he could no longer hear her quiet breathing. She must have gone. 

The room was simple, just the near-empty attic of some tower, but there was one thing here that escaped his notice until now. A raven, perched quietly in the corner of the room. No, not a raven, but a crow. Could it be one of the spymaster’s messenger birds?

He’d heard once that they were trained to understand speech. “If you’ve a job, someone will be looking for you.”

The crow watched him for a moment before hopping down to the nearby windowsill. Valtr opened the window and it flew off towards the rookery. Smart birds, crows. He chuckled. Perhaps those were her spies, not the people she employed. They would certainly be more convenient, able to flit about unseen. 

The spymaster likely wouldn’t answer him if he were to ask, but Djura might know. He spent most of this time downstairs, didn’t he? Valtr started to wander down. His days were fairly empty. At the very least he could lend the retiree a hand with his latest project.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for cutting snowball's bit short, my arachnophobia objected to a spider fight scene. couldn't bear to leave her out entirely tho, not after she scared the shit out of my on my first play through lmao


	51. to the lake to the lake to the lake lake lake

Leliana set down a sheaf of papers and rubbed her eyes. Each paper was thoroughly coated in small, cramped, cursive handwriting. If the information were not so delicate, she might have been tempted to delegate the task to one of her more reliable agents. However, the assassination of an empress was not something to be taken lightly. Regardless of her impending headache.

She needed to ask Solas if it was possible to speak with this ‘Micolash’ in person. Though she was no mage, even ordinary people had dreams. If it was at all possible, she would very much like to speak with the man who supplied this information. As difficult as it could be to sort through the pages, the information was crucial and its author spared no detail. Leliana suspected it would be much less troublesome to get the information straight from the source and take her own notes. At least she could reliably read her own handwriting.

There wasn’t much on the current whereabouts of the Hunters, though she suspected this had more to do with a lack of organization in the Hunter ranks and less to do with her strange new informant. At the very least, it was clear the Hunters were more active in Orlais than she had previously thought. It said in this document that they already had several informants in the Empress’ Court, mentioning several by name. 

The spymaster cursed herself for neglecting her own eyes in Orlais and stood from her chair with a frustrated sigh. She’d read what she could of the papers three times already, and a fourth examination would give her nothing more than a headache for her trouble. She might as well ask Solas about that meeting now. 

The apostate had fallen ill, but for the last few days he was on the mend. At the very least he’d returned to his study at the base of the tower instead of keeping to his room. He was there now, and set his reading aside politely when she approached. 

“Leliana,” he greeted her with a respectful dip of his head. “Is there something you need?”

“I have read the information Micolash provided, and I have several questions.”

“I will answer as best I can, but I may not be of much help.” He marked his place and closed his book, turning his full attention to the Spymaster.

“Actually, I would prefer to speak with the man directly--if such a thing is possible. I may not be a mage, but even I have dreams.” She’d been told before that even a non-mage could be brought into the Fade with a measure of lucidity, and though she had not experienced it herself, a… dear friend told her of it years ago while recounting their time in the Ferelden Circle.

“It may be possible, though bringing you to his domain may prove troublesome.” He mulled over the thought for a moment. “I can speak with him tonight about it. Should we find a way, I will notify you immediately.”

“Thank you, Solas.”

She left him to his reading and returned to her desk only to find Sera waiting for her.

“Oh, there you are.” She set something down behind her back, some pen or inkpot she’d been fidgeting with. Leliana made a mental note to throw the item away if she could discern what it was. Nothing Sera fiddled with could be trusted afterwards. “I’ve got a question for you.”

“Very well.” Rarely did Sera approach her voluntarily. It would be a lie to say she wasn’t curious what brought her here now.

“I’ve been talking to bucket-head, right? Er, Valtr?” It was difficult to tell whether she wasn’t sure of his name or wasn’t sure if she should say it, as though saying his name would summon him from the shadows or somehow alert him to their conversation.

“And what did he have to say?” To approach the spymaster was a rare enough thing for Sera, but to approach one of the Hunters here? It made the spymaster wonder what exactly this was about.

“He said the Hunters existed because there’s werewolves in Yar-thingy. That’s a whole thing by itself, but… Hasn’t someone found werewolves before? In our world.. Didn’t they go back to being people?”

That was something she had considered. She was there when Surana broke the curse in the Brecilian forest. The source of the people’s lycanthropy was (presumably) very different, but she thought to add this to a growing pile of reasons why Surana would be of use here. He was ever resourceful, ever discovering things he shouldn’t know, but the elven mage was also impossible to find at the best of times. In this, the worst of times, he was doubly impossible to track down. Not even the Warden Blackwall could tell her where he might be.

“Yes, they did. I’ve been searching for the one who was responsible for their reversion, but so far finding him has proven… difficult.” 

It irked her that he was able to do this after all these years, but he had never been one for the Chantry. She only hoped he hadn’t taken up with the Hunters instead of the Inquisition. Their strange magic was just the sort of thing that might draw him in.

“I could set my friends searching if you’ve got everything on him. They’re not all knifey shiv-dark, you know, like your people, but a couple extra eyes never hurt anyone.” Sera looked hopeful, though the spymaster couldn’t reason why she suddenly cared about the Hunters. Up until this point she’d done nearly everything she could to avoid mention of them.

“I don’t see why not.” If they could find anything at all on him, it would be more than she had now. Desperation was not a pretty face, but it was threatening to surface nonetheless. “Warden Commander Surana has so far evaded my attempts at locating him. If your friends could find him, it would be a weight off my shoulders.”

“Warden Com- The guy who killed the friggin Arch-Demon?!” At this point it shouldn’t be surprising what the elven girl did and didn’t know. 

“The very same. He’s quite good at keeping out of sight.” It was a useful skill while they were traveling during the Blight, but she had hoped he would come and find her once he learned of her search. 

“I’ll set my friends to looking. Have you got anything on him so far?”

She sent Sera off with a physical description and a rough approximation of his last known location. It was likely nothing would come of it, but she could always hope for a miracle. Solas must have found a way to help her as that evening he appeared in her loft.

“Solas. You’ve news for me?”

“I do.” He held out a length of silver cord. It was real silver as far as she could tell, the fine strands woven together around a series of deep red, nearly purple crystals. She had seen this sort of crystal before, thought she couldn’t quite place where. “This should allow him to contact you.”

“I assume I should wear it as I sleep?” There was no latch, but it was the right length to be worn as a bracelet. She could loosely knot the ends together without lasting damage.

“Indeed. But first, I must warn you of two things. First, this is theoretical. It may not work as we intend for it to. In that case, you will sleep as normal.”

“Understood. And the second?”

“Micolash is… unlike any other I have met. Know he is not a spirit or demon, but that he dreams as I do. He and his domain can be unsettling at times, but know that nothing I am aware of within his domain will hurt you.”

What a place it must be, that the mage felt such a warning necessary. “Very well. Thank you, Solas.”

He gave a polite bow before leaving her to her work. The next few hours felt long indeed, but they passed as surely as they always did. She loosely re-tied the cord around her wrist, and as she slept she woke in the fade.

She was in a library, the walls lined in more books than she had ever seen in one place. The tiled floor was cracked with age, but it was clean of time’s grime. Someone, presumably Micolash, had gone to great lengths to restore this place. Even the broken tiles were carefully set back into place. The shelves were well-dusted, and the ceiling held no cobwebs. Either there were no spiders in the Fade or keeping this place tidy was an ongoing project.

She was tempted to pull a book from the shelf and see what sort of literature a place like this would hold, but thought better of it. This was the Fade, and she would do well to remember that. Nothing would be as it seemed here.

The creature that rounded the corner ahead of her was proof of that, and it took her a moment to register what exactly she was seeing. In simple terms, it had the body of a dog and the head of a crow. Its matted, dirt-gold fur transitioned abruptly to black feathers at its shoulders. It retained the size of a large dog, though judging by its thin legs and lack of muscle it wasn’t a war dog. A hunting dog, perhaps?

It came to a stop a few feet in front of her and sat, it's dark eyes watching her expectantly. After a pause, it stood and began to walk back the way it had come, only to turn back and wait for her. Was she meant to follow it, then? Perhaps the dog belonged to the Headmaster she sought.

Her assumption that the library was in the process of restoration was proved correct as they climbed. The tower it must be to have this many stairs was being cleaned from the bottom up. 

The upper floors still had missing pieces of tile and dust on the shelves, though the worst of the debris was cleared. There was a pale flowering grass twirling up from beneath some of the tiles. Was it a real plant, or something that only existed in the fade?

Accompanying the grass were the eggs. Their eye-like design was like nothing she’d ever seen in the waking world. These must be another construct of the Fade. The long, thin legs protruding from them were the only sign of their true nature. Were they not present, she would think them to be the eyes they mimicked so well.

An odd purple lamp stood across a metal bridge spanning a great hall, just inside the final archway — this must be one of the lamps the Inquisitor mentioned. The archway led to a windswept balcony with dead leaves gathered in the corners and the pale grass more frequently dotting the ground. The balcony continued across before climbing a set of stairs. It was really much more of a walkway then, wasn’t it?

It was a breathtaking view. In the distance there were mountains, more mountains than she was sure existed outside the Fade. There was a sort of building, perhaps a shrine on one of them, though from this distance it was impossible to see it clearly. The moon was larger than life, closer than it ever could be while she was awake. It gave nearly as much light as the sun would in her world. 

“My guest arrives. Welcome, welcome!” Waiting for her on the walkway was the strangest man she had ever seen. When the Inquisitor said that the scholars of Mensis wore cages, she had not expected it to be two feet tall and resting on his shoulders.

His skin was a light shade of purple, and even from here she could see the veins beneath his skin. Beneath the cage, his face was uncomfortably proportioned, in some places swollen and in others overly sharp. Were he not speaking to her, she would think him to be a corpse. He wore the robes of an academic, threadbare as they were, though the sleeves bore no ink-stains. At the moment, his arms were swept out in a grand gesture as he bowed.

This could only be Micolash. Solas’ warning was understandable now. Had he not given it, she would think him some sort of spirit attempting to be something they had never seen. She gave a polite curtsey. As long as she was a guest here, she would act the part. “You have my thanks for inviting me here. Micolash, I presume?”

His too-wide grin was slow but deliberate. His voice was steady and his words were nearly melodic, spoken in one breath the way one might sing them, though he lacked the inflection a singer required. “The very same. And you must be the Spymaster Leliana?”

“I am.”

“Excellent, excellent! You have questions for me, do you not? I am told that was why you wanted to meet me here.”

“I do. Several things you informed me of were… of great concern, to say the least. I would like to have as much information as available before I act.”

“A wise choice. Tell me… what has piqued your interest so much, that you would come here to speak with me?”

“You wrote of Orlais, and the Hunters there, saying that they were spreading their sickness to the people of Thedas. What exactly do you mean?”

“Has your Inquisitor not told you of the Scourge? It travels with the Church’s Hunters as it always has, bringing a need for their Hunt, giving their Hunters a purpose and a justification. By spreading it, they’ve given themselves a way to be seen as allies in the eyes of the Empress. Who would not want to support those who save common, innocent people from these vicious beasts?” His tone was nearly mocking as he spoke, despite the nature of the information. 

“He has told us of the Scourge. I only hoped it had not made it to Thedas from Yharnam. Is there anything to be done for it? Djura and Valtr say there is no cure; but they are Hunters, not scholars, and I am prepared to believe that there are more qualified opinions on the subject. Might you know more of the Scourge than our resident Hunters?”

“I do not. I know it is not the answer you were hoping for, but the Scourge comes from a place older than all of us. I suspect they never found one either. This,” he said, sweeping his arms to Fade around them, “is but a small piece of one of those old tombs, not so dissimilar from the modern birthplace of the Scourge. Yet in all the books which remain here, not a single, solitary mention is made of the Scourge.. Should I discover more information within these halls, I will notify you immediately.”

“...Thank you, Micolash.” Not terribly helpful, but more than she’d found herself. “You wrote of a presence in Skyhold, someone you strongly implied to be a spy. Might you know any more of them?”

“Mmm. I don’t know much — they are quite transient in nature, you see. They will not be using their true face. However, I do not believe them to be a spy. At least, they are not spying on your Inquisition. I feel such a curiosity...a gentle curiosity, so free of malice. It would be foolish to ignore them, I suppose, but I sense no hostility.” 

That he spoke so confidently irked her. How would he know whether the presence in Skyhold could prove troublesome? That wasn’t his decision to make. She smothered her anger. This was not the time for it. She could not afford to offend this informant. 

There were other questions for him, unrelated to the report he had sent. Why would he help the Inquisition? Where was he physically, if not with Corypheus? If he was a headmaster, where were his students? This was not the time to ask any of her questions. “Very well. I thank you for answering my questions.”

“Should you have others, the method you used to reach this place should work in the future.” A polite dismissal, though one she would have responded to if she had not woken in her bed moments later. Leaving so quickly gave her the distinct impression of a door being shut in her face. While she could visit him, Micolash was making it clear that their...partnership, if it could be called that, would be on his terms and not hers.

How unpleasant, she thought, stretching her sleep-stiffened limbs and shifting to find a more comfortable position to lay in for the rest of the night. In the future, perhaps she would find another way to get the answers she needed.

~~~~~~~

The Hunter was right when he thought this would be awful. It would take days to pick all the webs from his feathers. He brushed a strand of sticky, burning thread from his shoulder. One of the mages threw a fireball up to the ceiling and the results were rather spectacular. 

He sighed. Couldn’t be helped. “Is everyone alright?”

“So it would seem.” Dorian peeled a strip of web from his sleeve, looking rather disgusted as he incinerated it. 

“Are you alright?” Alfred peered down at him. “It landed on you rather heavily, by the sound of it.”

“Not directly. It hit the floor more than me. I’ll live.” It would bruise, but thankfully nothing was broken. He’d had enough of recovery. “Is everyone alright, though? Who screamed?”

Hawke’s face was a deep shade of red as he climbed down the ladder. “Everyone’s fine, there’s nothing to worry about, and no one screamed. At all. Are the controls down there?”

The controls weren’t in the basement. The tunnel he’d seen before led out to the base of the hill, near the lakeshore. The controls were through a door they had passed before up in the fortress proper, helpfully labeled ‘Dam Controls’ much to Alfred’s delight. The door led out of the fortress, to the dock behind it. The building at the end must house the controls inside.

Candlelight in the window was something he hadn’t expected. Had someone else thought to drain the lake as well? Wouldn’t they have done it by now, if that was their plan? No one had crept past them once the bandits were dead, that was for sure. The door was locked when they’d found it.

“Who would be… ?” Hawke squinted at the window. “Think the bandits come out here to relax? Take a load off, have their lunch breaks?”

“Let’s find out.” The Hunter drew his Saif and pushed the door open. 

A pair of teenagers were in a liplock on the rug in front of the hearth. They broke apart to stare at the newcomers. For a brief moment, no one moved. Then Hawke started laughing as he turned back to the others and the teenagers went scrambling to their feet.

“What are you two doing out here?” Neither of them looked injured, at least. “Not worried about the undead?”

“They, erm, don’t usually stay near the water,” said the boy, blushing furiously. “We didn’t think anyone would be out here.”

“We won’t stay long.” Hawke grinned. “Just looking for the dam controls.”

“Is there a problem, Inquisitor?” Cassandra stepped through the door.

“Inquis-” The girl went pale.

He lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I won’t tell anyone you’re out here, don’t worry. ‘S not my business.”

Fenris re-emerged from one of the back rooms. “I found the controls. It will take more than one of us to operate.”

Said crank was big and heavy, but in miraculous working order for something supposedly smashed to pieces by monsters. They opened the dam and left the quietly arguing teenagers to themselves.

The Hunter looked out at the lake. The water rushing through the dam was quite loud, clearly moving quickly, but there was a lot of water to get rid of. “So how long will it take to drain?”

“Who knows.” Varric looked up at the clouded sky. “We should probably wait in town. It looks like there’s rain on the way, and I’m sick of being wet.”

It did start raining before they made it back, but they were back at the inn before the downpour started.

“Would it be an irresponsible use of Inquisition funds to rent a few rooms?” Looking outside, the trek back to the camp and subsequent night in a damp tent was less and less appealing by the second.

“Flighty, I think you could say you wanted to buy the inn and none of us would stop you.” Varric hopped off his stool. “A few coins for a dry bed is nothing. I’ll make the arrangements.”

“Thank you, Varric.”

The dwarf nodded and started for the counter. They spent the night before they set out for the rift. A warm bed could be the most wonderful thing.

“If it’s all the same with you, I think Fenris and I will wait up here.” The bags under Hawke’s eyes told a story all on their own.

“It’s fine with me.” They’d brought Alfred all the way up here, giving them an afternoon to themselves was the least he could do. “You’ve travelled a lot. Go back to the inn and rest, if you want to.”

“Shall we be off?” The Executioner woke up early that morning. Usually the Hunter and occasionally Cassandra were up so early, but it was nice to have a little extra company as he waited for the others to wake.

In contrast to Alfred, the rest of the party was only mildly awake when they emerged. How the Executioner maintained his general zest for life so early in the morning was a mystery for the ages, even to the Hunter.

“Let’s. The sooner we go the sooner we’ll be back.”

It was still drizzling, but it wasn’t the downpour it had been the night before. The lake more or less disappeared overnight, leaving the lake-bed exposed for the first time in a decade. Ruined buildings dotted the ground between soggy swathes of kelp. Most of the wood was rotten, some of the roofs and walls collapsed without water to make them weightless, but the stone foundations betrayed just how many houses there were down here.

The Hunter shivered. He didn't like this place at all. The rain and thick layer of mud on the ground would make it hard to hear any of the approaching undead, and the half-standing walls didn’t help either. Not solid enough to provide any real defense, but certainly enough for something to hide behind. The last time he’d been in a place like this it was terrible. The sooner he could leave this place, the better.

He turned a corner to investigate one of the more intact houses and nearly walked into a spirit. It hovered in the collapsed shell of the building, a transparent red glow with a humanoid shape. Luckily for him, it spoke rather than attacking.

“You! You there!” The spirit didn’t have any visible eyes, but it was definitely staring at the very startled Hunter. “I order you to tell me why nothing here heeds my commands!”

“What do you mean?” Was it trying to order the undead around? He didn’t think they could hear.

“This place ignores me! I order the rocks to part, and they do not. I bid the sky draw close, and it stays still! I don’t know how you mortals stand it.”

It meant the world itself? Solas always said the Fade was malleable in a way the world wasn’t. Did the rocks in the Fade move when the spirit told them to? “Why not go back to the Fade if you don’t like it here?”

“I will not be denied. I refuse to leave until something obeys my orders!” The spirit crossed its arms, determined.

“Can I help you, then?” He couldn’t very well leave it here, he guessed, and there was no reason to kill it. 

“You? No. The moon would object, and her rebuke is not to be taken lightly.” He got the distinct impression the spirit was scowling. The moon, again? Was his link to the Dream visible to spirits? How did it intimidate them? They couldn’t really displease a garden. Or could they? He imagined the great tree in the garden raising up on its roots. There was no reason to believe it couldn’t do that, if it wanted to...

“Might I be of assistance, then?” Alfred watched the spirit, clearly curious but withholding his questions for the time being. He knew when it was and was not a good time to ask.

“Hmm.” It studied him. “Yes, you will do nicely. I have only one command. A creature made of rage had the gall to chase me across the lake. Destroy it in my name and be rewarded!”

“As you command, it will be done.” The Executioner bowed, then addressed the Hunter. “Shall we be off, then?”

Were it any other command, he expected the rest of the party might object. As it was, no one did. 

Cassandra sighed, resigned. “Killing a demon is worthy of our effort, at least.”

“Let’s go.” The sooner they could leave the lake behind, the better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My last two brain cells wrote this chapter whilst being hounded by my beta. If I ever stop posting assume she killed me over a comma.  
> See y'all next week B)


	52. oof

Cassandra watched as the Inquisitor walked through the cave ahead of the rest of them. With no sign of the rift on the lakebed, they’d turned to the caves beneath it. The tunnels were more extensive than expected, but they pushed on nonetheless.

That Hunter in white was just behind the Inquisitor. She wondered what use a Hunter would have for clothing so extravagant, but this Hunter at least wore it well. Something about him unsettled the Seeker, though she couldn’t determine exactly what it was that left her so disquieted. He was strange, but none of his general oddities seemed to contribute to the overall feeling he exuded. 

The odd Hunter seemed to have no problem falling in with a group of strangers, even if he knew the Inquisitor before they came to Thedas. Perhaps that was it. Alfred treated him as a dear friend, despite the lack of participation on the Inquisitor’s part. He did not seem to notice that his advances were unrequited. 

For the most part unrequited, she should think, for there were small moments where the Inquisitor responded. It was never anything grand or particularly noteworthy, but it was visible enough to her. It showed in the way the Inquisitor listened to his ramblings, in the way he leaned ever so slightly into the other man’s casual touch when he would have shied away from others.

Once she would have balked at the idea of two men together, but during her long tenure in Orlais she had gained an opinion very different to the one she’d carried long ago. The Seeker knew how many stories like this began, stories of the search for stability in times of hardship. If only she knew how this particular story would end.

At that moment they were in a tunnel leading them down quite a ways from the surface. The Inquisitor crouched at the lip of a steep drop, the floor perhaps a dozen feet below him. It was a tiled stone floor, very different from the cave they had just gone through. She hadn’t expected to find an old Thaig here, but it hardly surprised her. There were ruined thaigs all over Thedas, some quite close to the surface. Crestwood was no exception.

The only strange thing was just how close to the surface they were. Usually-- in her experience, at least-- the Deep Roads were further down. Then again, a nearby entrance to the surface could explain how the darkspawn overwhelmed the town above so quickly. There were no darkspawn here at the moment, owing to the former lake. Perhaps even they could not survive underwater for long. It was odd to find no trace of them at all, but with the numerous dead littered about their waterlogged state she knew some of them could be darkspawn corpses as well as villagers and refugees.

If they were, the darkspawn must be nearly identical humans in life. She’d spent her childhood surrounded by corpses and, as far as she could tell, these were human or occasionally elven bodies. Blight-sickened and rotting as they were, their bones were not disfigured the way the darkspawn were said to be. Perhaps it was only their time underwater that made many of the corpses unidentifiable.

Uneasy as their party was in such cramped and uncomfortable quarters, surrounded by the dead, the Inquisitor showed it the most. Whether it was the proximity to the Deep Roads or the lakebed above that troubled him was impossible to tell, but he certainly acted strangely on the surface. It was comparable to how he behaved at the Storm Coast, though to a lesser degree.

“The floor isn’t too far down.” The Inquisitor stood, dusting himself off despite the wet, dust-less space around them. “I can jump down and deal with the rift, then come back here?”

“Perhaps it would be best if we did not split up.” 

Particularly if he didn’t go off alone with Alfred. If the Inquisitor jumped down, then the Hunter would follow without any hesitation. She didn’t want to think about it, but if the two of them left together then there was a chance that neither would return. She had a sinking feeling that it wouldn’t take much prodding on Alfred’s part, either. He’d already made it clear he was unhappy with his position as Inquisitor. If he had a way to leave it behind, she had little reason to believe he wouldn’t take it.

“There’s a tunnel over here, why don’t we see where it leads?” Varric stood off to the side, peering down a side tunnel with his light. “Who knows? Maybe it’ll lead us down.”

Reluctant as the Seeker was to follow the dwarf’s directions, his plan was a sensible one. The tunnel did turn down to the thaig below, full of the dead as it was. Few of them were undead, and the Inquisitor proved to have a knack for finding those that moved before they finished standing. The first few times he’d leapt across the hall towards a seemingly normal body were startling, but once his reasoning proved sound they’d continued on. 

There were more bodies as they continued downward. The water must have carried them further when the old village flooded. It was foolish to hope that the death toll was small enough to fit the numbers present aboveground, but down here the number of drowned dead was truly staggering. It pained her to see such a staggering number of dead, but she knew the Blight had taken its toll on the people, even if indirectly, as in this case.

Many of the ancient doors were sealed, either molded shut from the lake water or simply locked. At least the rift was easy to find. There were more demons than usual, but that was to be expected from a rift left alone to grow for so long. 

Strange and overly cheerful as he was, Alfred was more than capable within combat. How he wielded a block of stone on a post with any amount of proficiency was a mystery to her, but it proved very effective against the demons they faced. The rage demon he had volunteered to kill was crushed with ease. 

Their return to the surface was far less eventful than their descent. Without the rift and spirits to animate them, the dead were content to lie where they fell. The only danger left here was the uneven ground and slick stone. The spirit of command was satisfied by Alfred’s accomplishment and returned to the Fade, but not before pressing something into the Hunter’s hand. The Seeker couldn’t see what it was, but the Hunter seemed rather pleased with it. She could only hope it was a harmless trinket. 

High as their spirits were when they returned to the town, the scouts waiting for them were the first sign of something gone awry. One approached them with a salute as soon as they entered the town proper.

“Report, ser.”

“The rift at the bottom of the lake has been sealed. The undead should settle down now.”

The scout paused, confused, and Cassandra smothered a laugh. They’d had a report for the Inquisitor, and now the Inquisitor had reported to them. She nodded for the scout to continue. 

“Er, they’re waiting for you in the tavern, ser.”

The Inquisitor nodded. “Thank you.”

The scout saluted once more and scampered away. When they arrived at the tavern it was to find a pair of scouts flanking the door. They ushered the party inside, but did not follow before they closed the door. At one table sat Hawke, Fenris, and the Mayor. Aside from the bartender, they were the only ones present.

Hawke glanced back when he heard the door. “Good, you’re back. We’ve learned something rather interesting up here. The rift is closed?”

“It is.” The Inquisitor hesitated. “What’ve you found?”

“The Mayor here has something rather interesting to tell you. I think it’s interesting, do you think it’s interesting?” He turned to Fenris, who only sighed.

The curious Inquisitor approached the table while Cassandra hung back with the others. They could hear the conversation without crowding the table.

“Everything I did,” said the Mayor, eyes fixed pointedly on the table, “Was to protect the people here.”

“Oh, so suddenly all those refugees weren’t people?” Hawke snapped, glaring fiercely at the Mayor.

The Inquisitor’s eyes flicked between the two of them. “What’s happened?”

“It wasn’t the darkspawn that flooded the village ten years ago,” said Fenris, “It was the Mayor. He claims the refugees carried the Blight and that he drowned them to save his village.”

“They did, I swear it!” The Mayor was vehement, convinced he was right, but Cassandra felt her anger bubbling nonetheless. 

The Blight had no cure, but with so many dead they couldn’t all have been sick. There were no pyres on the lakebed, but the Blighted dead were burned. A death by the Blight was slow and painful, the signs of poisoning very clear. Surely at least the uninfected could have been saved, and a death by drowning was not a fate she would wish on anyone.

Clearly the Inquisitor at least somewhat agreed. His anger was rare, but now he could see it directed very clearly at the Mayor. “Is this true? You drowned them?”

“They would have infected the village if I didn’t! Nearly every one of them had the Blight, and those who didn’t wouldn’t leave their loved ones behind! There was nothing to be done for them, but I had to protect the others. You know as well as I do that the Blight has no cure.” The Mayor’s reasoning did nothing to pacify the Inquisitor.

“Did you know the Blight is still evident on bodies that have been underwater for the last ten years? I didn’t until I went down there, but the poison eats away at them, blackens their bones.” He took a step forwards and glared down at the Mayor. “Would you like to know something? At most, half of the dead there carried even the slightest hint of infection. I don’t think half is ‘nearly everyone’ or even close to it.”

Half? She had seen the darkened marks on the numerous bodies, but had not taken the time to study them. Maker, so many of them could have been saved, could still be alive today if not for this man. 

She’d have said something, anything, had the Inquisitor not turned back to them. “Will Ferelden care if we deal with him?” 

“We can make it work.” Varric was more stunned than angry with the revelation. “Are you sure?”

“I’m not about to let him off if there’s something I can do about it.” The nearly black rage was something he’d never worn before. 

Then Alfred set a hand on his shoulder. He jerked slightly, not quite a flinch but something close, but once he looked back and saw who it was the anger seemed to fall from him. There was a knife in his hand, she realized, but it disappeared a moment later, back to wherever it had come from. Had the Hunter not interfered, the Inquisitor would have killed the Mayor where he sat.

He took a deep, shuddering breath and let it out. “The scouts can watch him until we have Ferelden’s permission to take him back to Skyhold. For now, he’ll stay.”

He’d live, for now. Dorian caught her eye, likely having arrived at the same conclusion she had. There was fear there, something she’d never seen from the mage. The Inquisitor’s temper was slow to rise and quick to leave, but it was a sight to behold. The Mayor was more shaken than either of them, but whether it was due to the recent revelations or his near death was difficult to tell.

Varric nodded. “Alright. I’ll send a letter to Josephine. She might have news about it before we get back.”

“Let’s go, then.” He was done here. Even with his rage dissolved, he didn’t want to look at the Mayor lest he changed his mind. It was something the Seeker could understand. It was easier to reawaken a past anger than to create a new one. He had not killed the Mayor, but that could change.

He started for the door, Alfred just behind him, and the Seeker followed. There was nothing left to do here.

~~~~~~~

Leliana woke with a start in the middle of the night. There was something heavy drumming on her consciousness with a sense of urgency that woke her and left her startled and disoriented. Look look look look look, it said. Find it. Find what?

Her eyes snapped to the end of her bed. There, perched on a rounded bedpost, was a crow. It wore an Inquisition messenger harness. By the look of the pouch, there was something inside. The bird watched her curiously, head tilted and eyes focused. There. That, the voice said. It’s not a bird. Get it. 

She lunged for the crow. It took off, headed not for the window behind the spymaster but the door. Leliana followed after it, leaving her confusion behind with the tangled bedsheets.The stone halls were a disadvantage to the crow. Even without the daytime commotion, it would not be able to build up speed. She sprinted down the hallway after it. If they reached the great hall or even the rotunda, it was over. After rounding a corner just slightly too fast she nearly slammed into a very startled Commander Cullen.

“What…?”

“No time.” She sprinted past him, though she heard him follow behind her. The bird was a hallway ahead, but she saw where it turned. It was definitely going to the main hall. The doors were usually closed, but there were broken windows and small cracks yet to be patched. It would not take long for the crow to find a place it could slip out.

She reached the hall just in time to see the crow duck under a blast of energy and saw Solas, a good deal more dressed than she was, emerge from a side door, one that led to the library. He must have already been awake. 

The throwing knife she threw just barely missed the crow and embedded itself in the rafters. Solas’ next blast singed its feathers, but not enough to hinder its flight for more than a moment.

Off kilter as it was with a burned wing, it still managed to dive through a window. Reinforced as the sill was to keep it from further deteriorating, it still lacked panes as many of the upper windows did. That was it, then. She swore loudly and slammed a fist into the stone wall, then shook her head to clear it. Just what exactly was she doing here? 

Josephine peered out of her office from across the hall and quickly made her way over when she saw the spymaster. Cullen, mildly out of breath, came to a stop next to her as Solas left the doorway, coming towards them.

“Is something wrong?” Josephine was still dressed as well. She must have been working. Her concern was clear and unmasked. 

Leliana didn’t respond. What was she doing here? She was after the bird that wasn’t a bird, but why did she wake and how did she know? She looked to Solas. Did he feel the same compulsion?

The mage looked grimly after the bird. “It would seem we’re too late.”

“Too late for what?” The confused and slightly exasperated Cullen looked between the two of them. “Maker’s Breath! Would someone explain what’s going on? Leliana, why are you in your nightclothes?”

“I was asleep, Commander. An activity people prefer in their nightclothes, for the most part. You are fortunate I wore nightclothes at all. Josie could never explain that to our honored guests.”

Cullen stared, confused. This wasn’t a good place to explain. The spymaster shook off her muddled thoughts. There was still something tapping on her mind, whispering… an apology?

She glanced around the hall. Nearly empty, but not entirely. Josephine picked up on her unvoiced concern and ushered the group into her office, away from any prying eyes. 

Solas watched her as she sat on the couch, his face painted with concern as well. She ignored him. Just what had happened? She’d woken and seen the bird, then chased it. Nothing had mattered except getting her hands on that crow.

Someone snapped their fingers several times in succession. Leliana shook her thoughts out again. Whoever was pouring water on them had better stop. 

“Leliana.” Solas was crouched in front of her, watching her face carefully. “Can you hear me?”

“Yes, I can.” It took her longer to form the words than she’d have liked. The delay was rather obvious.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes.” Confused, disoriented, somewhat angry, very tired, but physically unharmed. She would recover. “What happened?”

“How much do you remember?”

“Everything.” Her thoughts felt muffled, but her past memories and motivations were clear. 

He hummed. “That’s a good sign, at least.”

“What is going on?” Josephine looked between the two of them. “What has happened?”

“There was a spy here in Skyhold,” said Solas, standing, “But it would seem they’ve gotten away.”

“A spy? That bird?” Cullen was skeptical, but that was somewhat understandable.

“Not a bird,” said Leliana, “They only took the form of one.”

“A shapeshifter,” Solas clarified. “Such magic is rare and almost entirely forgotten, but it does exist. It allows certain mages to take the forms of animals. One such mage took an interest in the Inquisition. Unfortunately, they’ve escaped our grasp.”

“A shapeshifter? They exist? How can such a mage be found? You must have a way.” Cullen, ever pragmatic, took that moment to spout off questions she felt he should have some answer to. Was he or was he not a templar? Tracking well-hidden mages should fall to him. The key word being ‘should’ in that thought.

“Some carry a particular aura, but this one has hidden here for some time.”

“What gave them away, then? A stroke of luck?” He glared at the elven mage.

“You could say that.”

Cullen huffed. “Could you be any less specific?”

They kept speaking, though she could no longer quite make out the words. Everything was strangely soft and her head was pounding. Shut up, Cullen. She felt a hand on her shoulder, Josephine’s, and Solas turned his back on Cullen to crouch in front of her. He did… something, with his magic. It felt similar to a healing spell. Perhaps it was.

He cast it once more before he spoke. “Is that better? Can you hear us?”

She nodded. “What has caused this?”

“Our mutual acquaintance has overstepped his bounds.” He grimaced. “I expect he had an easier time reaching me. With you he must have taken a more forceful approach.”

A mutual…? Micolash. She felt again the echo of an apology in her mind and realized that it hadn’t come from her. Had he always been able to reach out like this? Was this how he obtained his information from the Hunters?

“What acquaintance might this be?” Josephine’s hand was still on the spymaster’s shoulder.

“His name is Micolash.” She had no reason to hide him. Why had she hidden him so far? “He is our leading informant on the Hunter’s operations.”

Solas raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

“Since when have we had a Hunter informant?” Cullen looked to be on the verge of anger as his reserves of patience thinned.

“For the last… two weeks? Three?”

Cullen’s face melted to concern. How typical for him to be distracted by a woman in distress. If you were a spy, the idiot would be dead. What happened to being a fearsome, fearless general?

“Micolash is a mage in close proximity to the Hunters. He cannot safely approach us, but instead reaches out through the Fade. I believe he spends more time dreaming than I do. When he sensed the spy near us, he woke Leliana and I. However, while he could reach me easily due to my connection with the Fade, he must have had a more difficult time reaching our spymaster.” 

“And that’s why…?” She knew Cullen was moving his hands, but she’d closed her eyes in the hopes of easing her aching head and had no desire to open them again.

“Indeed. Micolash is quite powerful. When he pushed his way through the Fade to her, he may have... pushed too hard.”

“Will she be alright?” Josephine was still behind her, the ambassador’s hand still clasped on her shoulder. 

“I believe so, yes. The exhaustion is something known to newer mages who attempt to cast with a magical reserve they do not have. The magic was not hers, but she was the channel for it. So long as she avoids any strenuous activities, a complete recovery will only take a matter of days.”

The Inquisitor was meant to arrive in three days. She would give herself two of those days to recover and no longer. After that, she would just have to push forwards. It would not be enjoyable, but it was all the time she could spare to part from her current investigations, especially with their mixed support.

She was meant to be finding ways for the Inquisition to make an impression in Orlais, and she could not do that if she was impaired, even temporarily. This was something she would need to speak with Micolash about.

Again, the apology brushed her mind, softer now. Could he hear her thoughts? At this point it shouldn’t be surprising what he could do. Perhaps, she thought as she drifted off on Josephine’s couch to the sound of Cullen’s grumbling, he could hear that she thought him a bastard for this. 

The impression of his quiet, echoing laughter told her that he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeere's some content :D


	53. one so long awaited

“You’re going again already? You just got back.” Sera looked over to where Sukest was splayed across his pile of pillows. They’d retreated to the room on the second floor of the tavern Sera had claimed for herself for some nice quiet. She’d since claimed most of the pillows she could get her little hands on, which was a fair amount, much to her friend’s delight.

“Day after tomorrow we’re setting out again.” He stared up at the ceiling. It’d only been a few hours since he’d returned, and riding always tired him out. Probably wouldn’t be awake long. “Leliana did some poking around and found the rest of the Seekers.”

“The super templars?” Cassandra was one, that was about all she knew. “Why’s that such a rush? Didn’t they tell you to sod off?”

“They did, but she thinks there’s something weird going on. I didn’t stick around to hear the particulars. Did something happen while I was gone? She’s looking a bit under the weather.”

“Had a bit of a scare a couple nights ago, something about a spy in the castle. She’s not poisoned or anything, but she’s probably not sleeping well.” She didn’t hear about it until the next morning, but a few friends who’d seen it said it was a scene. A spymaster sprinting through the halls half dressed made a real racket. 

“I thought nothing got past her?” If she didn’t know him she’d think he was mocking, but from him it was an actual question. 

“So did she. Then she was wrong, so now she’s all puffed up about it. Once she finds how they slipped in it’ll be fine.”

“Let’s hope she finds it soon. She’s irritable when she’s tired.”

Sera couldn’t agree more. “Yeah she is. Heard her fussing with the birds the other day, something about their little packs. I don’t envy the poor sods who had to help her with whatever little fussy thing.”

“I’ll bet that was a sight to see.”

“Probably was. I took off before she spotted me. Didn’t want her to think I could be an extra pair of hands, you know? Speaking of, want some on your trip?”

“Getting bored here?”

“Haven’t been out to play in ages.” There was lots to do here, but not much use for arrows with the walls except putting them in dummies. Going out for a stretch could be nice. 

“I don’t see why not. Cole’s coming, though.”

“Ugh, the demon? Piss. Why?” It had taken to hovering just out of sight and mumbling nonsense when she confronted it. The further she was from it, the better. 

“Because Djura’s going.”

“He’s allowed out of the castle now?” He’d just recently kicked his watch off officially and now they were letting him out?

“I asked the same thing. He said Leliana found something about the Hunters and thinks they might be why the Seekers dropped off the map. Technically he’s along as an advisor, but I doubt he’ll be unarmed.”

Hunters too? Maybe Bucket and Djura were alright, but she’d rather keep away from the rest of that lot. “Who else is going? You, Djura, the demon, and…?”

“Cassandra and Solas. No soldiers or anything this time, we’re going out on horses. Packing light and everything.”

“I’ll bet that’s a real problem for you.” Could only take anything he wanted and didn’t even have to hold it. Useful, that. Not a trick she’d mind having, but friggin unfair.

He grinned. “Shh, someone might hear you and make me carry everything.”

“Might pass on going, though. Not really a fan of all-day riding.” Or demons. Or Hunters. 

“I can’t blame you. Dead uncomfortable, and I doubt there’ll be anything nice waiting for us.”

She left him to his napping and went to grab something to eat. A nice thing about living in the tavern meant dinner was right downstairs. Easy. Bull was there with his people like he usually was, but unlike usual he waved her over. If it weren’t for the serious face he was pulling she might have ignored him.

“You met him yet?” He was only half looking at her, and not because he only had one eye. Keeping an eye on the rest of the room, in case someone listening? This must be important then.

“The new guy?” Sukest brought a new Hunter back from his recent trip. If the other two hadn’t been alright she’d be more worried, but he was a better judge than she thought about these kinds of things.

 

He nodded. “The very one.”

“I saw him come in, but Leliana’s still got him. With the recent spook I figure she’ll have him a while.” 

The newest one was tall. Not Bull’s height obviously, but taller than anyone she’d ever seen that wasn’t grey and horned and an oxman. He was wearing dusty white when he came in. Looked like fancy cloth from where she was, not combat stuff. Didn’t look like he had a weapon, but it might’ve been taken for safety. Djura and Bucket didn’t wander around armed.

Well, Bucket wandered at least. Her sooty friend was usually in the same spot.

She couldn’t see much more, but she saw Djura’s obvious surprise in his wide eyes and the way he ducked out of the crowd welcoming the group back. Maybe they knew each other?

“You’re spot on with that. I don’t envy the guy.” He leaned back, sitting all casually but not relaxed at all. “You don’t seem nearly as upset as the last time.”

“Other two he brought back are fine. Thought I’d give this one a chance.” She wouldn’t just show him an open door, but she didn’t see a need to introduce herself with arrows.

“You’ve got a point there, just thought I’d warn you.” He wasn’t looking at her, he was looking at the room.

“Warn me about what?” They both knew she’d seen the new Hunter, why warn her if it wasn’t about something else?

“From what I’ve heard, he and the Boss might have been… close. Really close.” His eye flicked to her, then back to the other people.

Close? Like… diddling close? Friends close? Some other kind of close? The other two hadn’t known him well at all, but this one did?

“Just thought I’d give you a heads up.” He waved over to the counter for a refill on the mug in his hand. “Don’t let me interrupt your day.”

Right. Dismissed.He was watching when she left, but she didn’t really care. Only reason she’d come down was for food, but now she had a good lot to think about. Frig, who could eat with their stomach doing flips? She took food upstairs anyways. Sukest was asleep when she got back, but he’d be glad for the food when he woke.

She needed to talk to the new Hunter without half the eyes and ears in the castle on her. Sukest was leaving in two days. If all else failed, she could talk with him after that. If this new Hunter knew who Sukest was, where he’d come from and all that, she wouldn’t stop him from talking, but this really was going to toss up all her plans, wasn’t it? Frig. 

~~~~~~~

Lady Maria, formerly of Cainhurst, the Astral Clocktower, and (most recently) the afterlife, crouched in a tree and kept as still as she could. She really was scraping the bottom of the barrel with a plan like this. Maria leaned against the trunk, scanned the nearby trees, and wished she could come up with a better plan than this. 

Had she not grown up somewhere similar, this frozen place could be quite miserable. Not to say it wasn’t cold, wet, and dismal — but at least it was a familiar sort of misery. As things were, she was quite thankful for the blanket the nearby village had given her. Without the thick layer of wool she might be returning to the afterlife sooner than expected. Wouldn’t that be a shame.

The Inquisition had no presence near the small village, but they did have a small outpost some distance away. The villagers said they saw distinctive messenger birds land in the trees sometimes as they hunted game. They wore Inquisition heraldry, and even from the ground she could see the telltale tubes carried by messenger birds. An extra message wouldn’t burden one terribly, so long as she could get a hold on one of the elusive crows alive and in decent condition. As for how to do that...

Maria had a small pouch of stones and nothing but time. Time, a blanket, and what might be the sorriest plan she’d ever even thought about trying. 

The birds must have been trained to avoid people on the ground. She saw them in the trees over the last few days, but none landed near her and all took off when she approached, no matter how silently she stepped through the snow. 

That brought her to her current location. At least in a tree they might miss her until it was too late. She’d seen several of the messenger crows today so far, but none close enough to strike. Still, they landed closer today than they ever had before. Perhaps their distance was only a matter of chance. She hoped that was the case.

And so it was. It wasn’t much longer before one landed reasonably close. Carefully, she lifted a stone from the small pouch. The trick here would be stunning it without killing the poor thing. She eyed the bird with purpose and pitched the stone at it.

The crow fell from its branch as the other birds scattered. Maria dropped to the ground. Excellent. Now, to see what state it was in. It it was dead, then she was shit out of luck.

The bird in question was injured, but not only by her. One of its wings was badly singed, showing hints of burnt flesh under damaged feathers. Still, it was alive and seemingly none the worse for wear. It blinked up at her as she lifted it gingerly from the snow. There was already a message in its harness, but she had no interest in learning the Inquisition’s secrets. She only wanted to send a message of her own. 

“Sorry,” she told the bird as she looked it over. “It’s nothing personal.”

What she didn’t expect was for the bird in her hands to very quickly become not a bird, but a blinding mess of shifting flesh and feathers, and then a person. She dropped them mid-change and stepped back. 

This was it. The last straw. “I hate this place, I hate this place, I fucking-“

“Are you okay?” The former bird looked up at her. “Nice throw, by the way.”

“Are all the birds here people?!” This place was awful, familiar landscape notwithstanding. Thadus, they-das, whatever it was called. She would never get used to this place. 

“I hope not. That would be weird. Are you one of the Hunters? You don’t look like you’re from here.” And he sounded so genuinely curious, not afraid the way the villagers had been when she’d first approached them. 

“No,” she said, still stunned but vehement. “I am not a Hunter.”

“Have you come from Yharnam? I’ve only seen one person who looks like you, and they’re from Yharnam.”

“Does it matter where I’ve come from?” All she wanted was to send a message. Just a stupid fucking message. How hard was it to get a piece of paper from one place to another in this cursed land?! 

“I suppose not. Still, you’re the first I’ve seen from Yharnam that isn’t a Hunter. Are you affiliated with them?”

“... who are you?”

He held out a hand. “Githyn Surana. And you are…?”

“I am Lady Maria, formerly of Cainhurst.” She used to keep in touch with the rest of her family, but that ended long ago. It would surprise her more if she hadn’t been struck from the records than if she had, considering her.. unfortunate end. Such dishonor was not welcome in the hallowed halls of her former home.

“Not Yharnam, then? I suppose that makes sense. The other tall one gets called ‘the Cainhurst’ sometimes. I hadn’t thought it was a place, but it does make much more sense now.”

Other one? As far as she knew she was the only one from Cainhurst to ever become a Yharnam Hunter. Had others joined, after she’d gone? At the moment it hardly mattered, but it was something for her to think about. She looked down at the elf in front of her. An elf, not a man, an elf because this place had elves. He looked up at her, completely relaxed. 

“You are… very strange.” He was more than strange, but she didn’t have a better word for him at the moment.

“I get that a lot. Out of curiosity, what has you pelting birds? They’re certainly weird, definitely not my favorite shape, but I wouldn’t say they’re weird enough to throw rocks at.”

Maria considered him for a moment. Oh, why not? It wouldn’t be the most foolish thing she’d done recently, even if that wasn’t saying much. “I’ve been trying to get in touch with the Inquisition. I thought to attach a message to one of their birds, but they’ve proved elusive so far.”

“Hmm. I can see why you wouldn’t just try the front door. Most of the people your height have grey skin and horns.” He paused. “You might not have seen them out here.”

She would have remembered seeing someone like that. “I can’t say I have.”

“They’re decent people, really. So organized, and very efficient.”

Of course they were. Maria started back to her tree. If she could manage to get something that was actually a bird, that would be fantastic. 

“Where are you going?” He followed after her, his steps quiet but audible in the snow.

“I still need to catch a bird.” A real bird. Was that so much to ask?

“I can carry your message, if you’d like. I might not really be a bird, but most people can’t tell the difference.”

She ground her teeth. An unladylike habit, her governess would have told her. Fuck her governess. “No, thank you.”

“Fair enough. I probably wouldn’t trust someone who just fell out of a tree.”

“Just who exactly are you?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Haven’t I said?”

“You’ve told me your name, but that tells me nothing.”

“What would you like to know? I’m a mage, if that matters to you. I was a Warden before I left them, if you know who they are.”

She’d heard more of mages than Wardens. “Can all mages change into birds?”

“Not that I know of.”

Maria bit back a sigh. “Why were you a bird, then?”

“I needed to know a few things about the Inquisition and didn’t really want them to know it was me. My reputation isn’t always sparkling clean. I know they’ve been looking for me, but I’m not entirely certain why.”

For someone who said he wouldn’t trust someone who’d just fallen from a tree, he was telling her an awful lot. “You know, if I brought them someone they were searching for they may be less inclined to attack me.”

“You could try it. Of course, you’d have to get them there somehow.” He smiled up at her, and she paused. There was something there, just behind his eyes, that hadn’t been there before. Something dangerous. A mage, he’d said. 

“Perhaps not.”

“You could try just talking to them. Maybe don’t just march up to Skyhold, but they’ve got outposts everywhere. You carry yourself well, must be good with a weapon. What do you have to worry about?”

She did have a sword now, another gift. It wasn’t the blade she was used to holding, but she never wanted to see that damnable thing again. She could fight well enough with her new sword if the situation called for it, though calling it a sword at all was generous. In her hands it looked more like a dagger. “Apparently I have to worry about birds being elves.”

He laughed. “That’s true. If it helps any, I’ve only met two other mages who could change forms, and I’ve met a lot of people.”

This elf had no intentions of leaving her alone, did he? “If you’re spying on the Inquisition, then what are you doing all the way out here?”

“It's not spying, really. I don’t report to anyone, I just watch. I was only recently discovered.” He lifted an arm, and his loose sleeve fell back to reveal a large burn. His injuries carried between forms, then. “They weren’t terribly happy about me being there.”

“I can’t imagine why anyone would be unhappy to learn someone has been spying on them.”

“Fair enough. I do have to wonder what gave me away. Hmm.” He looked out over the mountains in the distance for a moment before his eyes snapped back to her. “Well, it is hardly the concern of the moment. If you’ve tired of chasing birds, I might have a better way for you to get in touch with them.”

Admittedly, the last few days had been without success. The one bird she managed to catch wasn’t even a bird. “I’m listening.”

“Skyhold itself is well defended, but the Inquisitor himself travels often and keeps only a light guard. He ventures out to close the rifts, you see. You’ve seen those? The green holes in the air?”

“I have.” They yielded demons, to the dread and dismay of the villagers. Had she not been able to fight said demons, she imagined their welcome wouldn’t have been nearly so warm. 

“He travels to seal them, as I said. So far he’s been on the other side of the mountains, but I have it on good authority that he plans to come this way soon. Not here, but relatively nearby.”

“And you think I should go to him directly?” In her experience, few in power appreciated being approached by uninvited strangers. 

“I do. He’s taken in Hunters before. You might not be one, but I imagine he would at least hear you out. A friendly one, he is, not at all what I expected.”

It would give her something to do aside from hunt birds, but she couldn’t shake her lingering apprehensions about approaching this ‘Inquisitor’ directly. There was, after all, a good reason for her to chase down birds instead of walking to Skyhold. She had no idea how the Inquisition would receive her and wasn’t eager to die again. Once was enough. “It would be a shame to leave this place unguarded. The people have no defense from the demons.”

“Hmm. I can’t seal the rifts as the Inquisitor does, but I can suppress them. They’ll still be here, but they won’t let spirits through. How about that? It would keep them safe. From the demons, at least.”

In all honesty, it was a better plan than hers. Even if she’d gotten her message to them, they had no reason to take it seriously. “Fine, then. Let’s go suppress the demons.”

He grinned. “Fantastic! Let’s start at the village, then, and work our way out.”

With a sigh she started walking back to the village, trying not to think of what her life had become. At least the elf behind her was content to walk silently. Perhaps this wouldn’t be as bad as she imagined.

Then again, it might be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> she's here. finally. she's here.


	54. oof pt. 2 (but irl now)

The Hunter knew they were in a hurry, but stopping at an outpost only to change horses and leave again was a new experience. At least their speed meant they didn’t need to ride so quickly for long. It was certainly faster than their normal traveling speed, but what they gained in time they lost in comfort.

Djura wasn’t doing much better than he was. The retiree had given up and leaned down against the horse’s neck whenever they were going slow enough to manage it. Solas didn’t look terribly happy, but he was certainly doing better than the two Hunters. Cassandra and Cole were riding just fine, agitated but not about the rough ride. Or maybe the agitation was all Cassandra’s, and Cole only mirrored it. Compassion, wasn’t he? 

Their second afternoon brought them to the keep. He clambered off his horse and approached the gate. The horse could run into the woods, never to be seen again for all he cared. 

Something here wasn’t right. The gate was closed, but the courtyard was silent. Djura stopped his mild grousing when he noticed the tense Hunter at the gate. 

“Is there something wrong?” Solas dismounted and approached. 

“There’s no one here.” The courtyard was empty, but the air had the faint scent of decay. Not of molding plant life and rotted upholstery, but the sickly sweet smell of something dead. 

He took a few steps back and considered the wall. Climbing the smooth walls would be difficult. Perhaps there was a back door? No one would be opening the gate, not from the outside. They needed another way in. 

Djura stepped up next to him, then paused. “Do you smell that?”

The Hunter just nodded. 

“Smell what?” Cassandra handed her horse’s reins to Cole. 

“Death,” said Djura, squinting into the courtyard. “Unless we can open this from out here, we’re going to need another way inside. Cole, do you think you can climb this?”

“Maybe.” He’d tied the horses off nearby and joined the rest of them. “I’ll try.”

“Be careful. We don’t need you breaking your neck.”  
“No… that would be bad,” he agreed, not sounding like he was sure it would be. 

Djura gave his be-hatted head a pat. 

The wall by the gate was relatively smooth, but the spirit scaled it with apparent ease. It was only a few minutes before he reappeared on the other side of the gate, headed for the gatehouse. The metal was rusted and screeched terribly, but with some effort the spirit opened it enough for them to pass. It fell shut with a thud behind them. 

“Sorry,” said Cole, emerging from the gatehouse. “It was heavy.”

“It’s no problem. We can figure something out when we’re leaving.” Djura scanned the courtyard as he spoke, distracted by his instincts. If they were in Yharnam, that sound would send any beast bounding towards them from the shadows. The veteran knew better than anyone alive how dangerous a noise like that could be. 

Despite the gate’s racket, nothing stirred. A blanket of silence settled over them without the noise of the forest to keep it at bay. The stalls of the stables still held their horses, all dead and rotting. Whoever used to be here either had no use for them or hadn’t left at all. This explained the stench, at least.

The doors to the main hall wouldn’t move, either barred or otherwise blocked from the inside. Breaking them down would be possible, but loud. Anything inside that hadn’t heard the gate would certainly hear that. 

The Hunter turned his attention to the side doors dotting the walls. It was smaller, but if this place was anything like Skyhold then a good number of these doors would lead into the main keep. He set about searching for one that either wasn’t locked or was weaker than the others. 

Cole, however, seemed immediately drawn to a door half-buried in the undergrowth. He set a hand against the wood and looked back to Djura, unsure. 

“Have you found something?” The retired Hunter made his way over towards the spirit, looking more and more concerned as he approached. “Are you alright, Cole?”

“Here,” said the spirit, “they're here and they’re hurting.”

The Hunter nodded to Cassandra, who stepped forwards. Her first kick made the door shudder in its frame, and the second snapped the brackets holding the bar in place off the wall. For someone who wasn’t a Hunter it was impressive. Even for a Hunter, he thought briefly, it would be impressive. Or perhaps she was the impressive one?

Still, it was louder than he would of liked, but quieter than he expected. Nothing moved in the dark room beyond the door once the dust settled. 

Cole was the first through the door, and he didn’t stop to wait for the rest of them before he took off at a sprint. If he was bothered at all by the pitch dark, he didn’t show it. Could spirits see in the dark? Now that he thought about it, he didn’t actually know. Did anyone know? This wasn’t the time. 

Djura, slightly more bothered, swore. “Do any of you have a light, then?”

The Hunter pulled a pair of lit torches from the Dream and handed one to the retiree. Cassandra didn’t have a free hand to hold one, but Solas lit the end of his staff rather brightly with a wave of his hand. 

After a moment of hesitation, the Hunter stepped through the door. This room must be storage. There were tarp-covered mounds and wooden crates piled haphazardly. He needed to be careful on the way through or he might knock something over. They’d made enough noise already. 

A door across the room led out to a branching hall. There was dust on the floor, but it wasn’t thick enough to see the footsteps of their runaway spirit. Did he even leave footsteps? Another question for the pile.

Djura glanced each way and went left. How he knew which way to go was a mystery, but the Hunter didn’t question it. He only followed quietly, mage and warrior in tow. 

The hall led down several flights of stairs to another barred door, this one handed with metal. It would not be as simple as kicking it down if they wanted through. Cole stood in front of the door trying to find a way to open it, but without success. 

“They’re here.” The spirit had a hand against the door as though he could beg it to open. “They’re just through here! I can feel them, but I can’t reach them!”

“Step back,” said Djura, priming the stake driver.

The hinges were on the other side of the door, but he braced the tip about where they would be and pulled the trigger. The noise was painfully loud, but the contraption tore through the door as though it were a bale of hay. 

He yanked it out of the door and repeated to process for the lower hinges. Without those, he just tugged the door out of its frame and lifted the bar. 

Cole went to dash forwards again, but Djura stopped him. “Wait for the rest of us, will you? We’re a bit more hindered by the dark than you are, and we don’t know the way.”

The spirit was clearly unhappy with the thought, but nodded. “We have to hurry.”

“We will. Lead the way.”

He took off again, but he did at least make sure the rest of them hadn’t fallen too far behind. They didn’t go far, just to another door. This one wasn’t locked, but Cole didn’t touch it, only stopped in front of it. 

From behind the door, there was noise. Just a quiet scratching, and the nearly inaudible tick-tick-tick of claws on stone. It had been quite some time since he’d heard that noise, but it was one he would never forget, and he called the Saif to his hand. 

Djura must have recognized it as well, by the way he grimly primed the stake driver. “When you’re ready.”

Cassandra, when she saw they’d drawn their weapons, drew her sword. “Do you hear something?”

Oh, right. It was likely the noise was soft enough for only the two Hunters and possibly Cole to hear, though the spirit may have only sensed its presence. 

“Be ready,” said the Hunter, and he nodded for Cole to open the door. 

It was only matter of seconds before the beast leapt from the dark room beyond. The Hunter was ready for it, and slid out of the way to lash out at its unprotected sides. 

Cassandra, who was marginally less ready, stepped back with her shield up. The beast answered her retreat with a snarl and lunged towards her, teeth snapping, only for the Saif to catch it in the side as it went by.

It had the same dull, patchy coat and starved appearance as any Yharnam beast, despite being somewhere far more hospitable than the city. But then, both the lush forest outside and the prey it could offer were unreachable to something confined in these walls. 

As beasts went it wasn’t a very big one, but were it to stand on its hind legs it would be a fair bit taller than the Hunter. Thankfully, this meant it couldn’t maneuver very well in the hallway. The Hunter was free to slash at its back legs as it staggered to the side after Cassandra slammed her shield into its head. 

It was only stunned for a moment, but it was long enough for Cole to slip past both the Hunters with his daggers drawn. The twin blades hardly nicked the beast, but they did distract it. 

Solas couldn’t aim clearly in the small space, but he did shield the spirit from the teeth snapping at him. The Hunter slid the extended Saif under its torso from behind and let the beast split itself open from sternum to stomach as it tried to lunge forwards. 

It staggered a few steps before it collapsed, flanks heaving. Only a handful of seconds later it was still. 

The Hunter nudged it with his boot. When it didn’t move, he dismissed the Saif. Any others nearby would have come running at the sound. 

Cole knelt in front of it and set a hand on its head. “I couldn’t help you. I’m sorry.”

Cassandra stared at it in the darkness. “What is it?”

“A beast,” said Djura, looking grim. “Someone afflicted with the Scourge — a form of Lycanthropy.”

The retired Hunter lifted one of its forelimbs. It still had what was recognizable as a furred hand, though the fingers were long and misshapen. 

“Lycanthropy? Then…” Her eyes widened. 

This was a conversation the Hunter didn’t particularly want to participate in. He slipped out the door the beast had come from. No one said anything as he left — with any luck, they were too distracted by the revelation to notice. 

He was meant to have amnesia right now, but he knew that keeping up his veil of ignorance would be impossible under the subject of the Scourge. Not such a big deal around Djura and Solas, but Cassandra and Cole…

Or maybe just Cassandra? Cole could read thoughts, after all. Did he know already?

At the moment, it didn’t matter. Or maybe it did, but not in a way he could see or do anything about. Instead he set his sights on the darkened rooms and halls ahead. 

If he couldn’t stick with the others, he should at least make it safer for them. There was never only one beast — there would be others here somewhere, and a keep this size could hide quite a few beasts. 

He pushed the others from his mind and recalled the Saif. It had been a while since he’d fought anything like them, but perhaps this was just the sort of challenge he’d been looking for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alrighty. well. to start with, i'm so so sorry. not only is this two days late and not very good, it is also the start of a short hiatus. i swear to Kos this isn't abandoned, i'll be back before too long, but i've run out of anti-depressants. my appointment for more isn't for a few weeks, but i do have one made. if i don't post again at the beginning of next month all of you are legally allowed slap me. i'll still be semi-active on my discord (https://discord.gg/Zu7Qn3y) and i'll be back in a few weeks. thank you all so much for reading, and i'll see you then.
> 
> Edit, in response to comments: y’all are the best. Seriously. Thank you all so much.


	55. guess whos back B)

Most people didn’t knock on Sera’s door. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had. Morris, maybe, when he carried up a dresser? That might’ve been it. Was weeks ago, though, no reason to have anybody about now. 

Her bow was by the door like always. She didn’t pick it up just yet, but she did take a moment to make sure it was in arms’ reach. Never hurt to be careful.

She opened to door and found herself face to face with the new Hunter. Face to chest. Maybe stomach. He was tall, right. Not Bull tall, but closer than anyone else she’d ever saw. He never came up to her before, and she didn’t talk to him. Sera just listened from afar, per the usual, and from what she’d heard around the tavern this guy was a bit off his rocker. Alfred, his name was. Sounded too normal name for him, but alright. 

At the moment he was just standing in the doorway, shuffling slightly. “Your name is Sera, isn’t it?”

“Right.” She looked him up and down, brisk and quick-like. He was still in white, like he’d been since he got here, nevermind being drenched in blood and whatnot a couple of times. It wasn’t the snow color it probably used to be, but it was still bright. No stains. She wasn’t sure if the thread was silver or not, but it actually looked like it might be. Executioner, Valtr called him. Why white, then, and who was he executing? “What’re you here for?”

“If it’s quite alright, I’d like to ask you a few questions.” His hands were clasped in front of him, clasped and still, and he managed to look apologetic. 

Well, she did plan to talk with him anyways. Not much reason to send him off. “Fine. Not here, though. Here’s my space.” 

She took him outside. Not the walls, not enough people. Can’t stay in the tavern, too many people. Where was somewhere without too many ears, but enough that someone would hear if she started screaming murder?

The garden would be fine. The gardeners were all some form or another of Leliana’s people. Sukest spent enough time there she felt the need to hide guards in there. They wouldn’t listen too close, but if things went south during their chat then somebody was armed.

 

She heard the collective tavern breathe a sigh of relief when they left. Djura was generally well-accepted as a veteran, or a troublemaker, something on those lines, but Valtr and now Alfred were less liked. Tolerated. No fighting in the hold, but no one was happy about it. 

Even with all the pilgrims and everything the garden was usually pretty empty, and today was no exception. She settled down in the grass and Alfred sat next to her. If he minded sitting on the floor, he didn’t show it. 

“You’ve got questions?” 

He just settled into his little bit of ground, leaned back against the bushes really carefully so he wouldn’t dent them. “Yes. I wanted to ask about Sukest, actually.” 

Alright, that was a bit strange. Didn’t he spend most of his time chatting with him? Well, that might be why he was asking her. Sukest would just say it was fine and move on. “Alright.”

“Is he happy here? He looks much better than he used to.”

Well, wasn’t that bit of… something. She wasn’t sure what. He just looked like he was asking about the weather, too. When she said nothing, Alfred continued. Or maybe he just wasn’t done talking?

“Despite the healing, Yharnam isn’t the best place for recovery. This place though, I must say, is quite beautiful. Clean air and good food can do wonders for one’s health.”

It took her a second to find an answer for his question. “I’d like to think so. I mean, he didn’t really want to be Inquisitor, but he’s who everyone wanted. Good to know he won’t be trying to climb up any time soon.”

Alfred laughed. “That’s certainly true. He isn’t someone prone to corruption. It doesn’t take much for him to dig his heels in against something he thinks is wrong.”

Really? So far he’d pretty much gone along with what people suggested. But then, maybe he hadn’t really disagreed with anything they’d said. Would that change if he didn’t like their ideas?

“I can’t help but wonder — how did he get mixed up in all of this? I woke in eastern Ferelden, though I didn’t know that at the time, and didn’t find much of anything. I walked for some time to find any civilization at all. Where did he appear, that the Inquisition took him in?”

“I wasn’t actually there for it, but I heard he fell out of a rift right by The Rift. Guards that found him thought he was a demon or something with all the feathers, but now he’s in charge, so it’s worked out.”

“So it seems.”

“Right. How’d you get here then? Ferelden, you said?”

“I woke alone, laying on the ground in a patch of trees. Before that, I was in Yharnam. I’m afraid there’s a bit of a gap between the two, and I haven’t the slightest idea of what used to fill it.”

Djura and Valtr both said the same thing. A bit disappointing to hear the same thing a third time, but she’d expected it. “I’ve got a couple questions of my own, actually. Mind answering a few?”

“I’ll certainly try. It’s the least I can do.”

“The Hunters are from Yharnam, yeah? What sorta place needs people like that?”

“Yharnam is a bit of a mystery to me. The people are rather tightly knit, and they dislike outsiders. Someone like me finds closed doors at every corner.”

“But you’re a Hunter. You’ve gotta know something, yeah?”

“I know a bit. Hmm. How much do you know of the Healing Church?”

She knew enough. “That they’re the ones with the fancy blood. Choir’s at the top, Hunters follow them, everyone else shuts up about it.”

“I can tell you what I know of them, if you’d like.”

She waved him on, eager for answers that no one else would give her.

“The Healing Church was founded by a group of scholars from the college of Byrgenwerth. They found the holy blood in the tombs beneath the city, and brought it to the surface.”

“Tombs?”

“Underneath the city of Yharnam lies a labyrinthe, ancient catacombs dedicated to the gods. It lay sealed for ages, but the scholars of Byrgenwerth gained access through some means. I’m afraid I don’t know the specifics.”

He didn’t know them, but she didn’t know them or care about them, so there.

“They found the holy blood and brought it to the city. This blood, however, was not all they found.” He paused, thoughtful. “Not all the blood they found was holy, and with the blood came the Pthumerians.”

“The what?”

“Caretakers of the old tombs. Taller than any man, and paper pale. The Church brought some with them to the city. These days they make up the bulk of the Cathedral’s guards.”

“The Cathedral… with the blood?”

“Indeed. Even a Hunter faces a challenge against them, but so do the beasts. During the Hunt, the Cathedral Ward is closed, and the captain of the guard signals for the gate to open. Usually the people there are safe and away from the dangers of the Hunt.”

“So they’ve got a safe spot, then?” That didn’t line up with what she’d heard about Yharnam so far. As far as she knew, there were no safe spots. That was the whole problem. No safe spots, no rest, everyone dies. The end.

“They were meant to. During this most recent Hunt, the gates opened early. I’m rather certain Sukest had something to do with it, but there was nothing else to be done.”

Was he the reason there were no safe spots, then? He didn’t seem the evil type at all though. It was hard to think of her friend doing something like that. There must be a reason. 

“Why’d he go and do that?” 

“I can’t say for certain, but Hunts like this last one are rare. Morning doesn’t come when it’s meant to, and left unchecked, the night could last… well, forever. I’d heard of this happening, but I’d never experienced it before. Perhaps he was searching for an end to the Hunt?”

“How does that work? Does the sun just not come up?” It wasn’t the strangest thing she’d heard about this city, but it was definitely up there.

“It sets as normal, but once the moon rises the city grows stagnant.”

“For how long?”

“It must have been weeks since the sun last rose over the city. I must say, to see the sun again was quite a shock. A nice one, though it did take my eyes a good while to adjust.”

Alright, this was something she’d look into herself. With Djura probably when he got back, or Valtr if that took too long. No matter how much Alfred seemed genuine, there was still a line. Time to ask something else. “So what’s the Hunt? Its for beasts, but how does it work?”

“Every so often a Hunt is called to keep the beasts at by. In one night, large sections of the city are swept and cleared of every trace of the scourge.”

“Why do they come back then? The beasts, I mean.”

“No one is entirely certain where they’ve come from, but there are a few theories. The beasts have always plagued the city, even before the founding of the Healing Church, but it was only somewhat recently that they appeared in enough force that the Hunters were founded. ”

“Recently, like…”

“A few decades ago, from what I’ve heard, but the people of Yharnam share very little indeed. You see, most Yharnamites believe that outsiders such as myself taint their healing blood, twist it into something that causes the scourge. Because of this, most outsiders are conscripted into the Hunt should their visit coincide with one. I believe that’s how Sukest joined.”

He’d said once, a long time ago while he was completely tossed, that he’d gone to Yharnam for healing. So that checked out, at least. “So normal people go for Healing and, what, just can’t leave?”

“If I’m to be honest, I’m afraid most don’t survive their first Hunt, and those that do often choose to stay.”

“So most don’t survive, but Sukest did?”

“So it would seem. I suppose it isn’t technically finished, but I would like to believe the worst of it is behind him.”

Wot. Hang on. “How long was this one again? A couple weeks?”

“The Hunt? I would say so. Perhaps a bit longer. It’s difficult to keep track of time, strange as it becomes.” 

A couple weeks. “That’s it? That’s all the time it takes to go from being some dying sap to being a Hunter?”

“Not usually, but for the survivors, yes. Any who survive their first Hunt are welcomed into the fold.”

“No, I mean like… the fighting, and being really fast. All that can happen so quick?”

“That, I would guess, is due to the heavy usage of blood during the Hunt. There is no time to heal naturally, so most use it like water. Survival is often a matter of finding enough to last through the night. I’m not certain where he found it, but Sukest had a rather stable source of it.”

“And this is the stuff from a maze?”

“Not directly. It’s a rather precious thing, the blood. Rarely is it ever given out directly. Instead, the Healing Church will administer to the elected Blood Saints, who in turn give to the rest of the city. The Saints themselves are of exceptional blood, furthered by the Holy Blood of the Church. It is, of course, not as effective as the pure Holy Blood, but it is rather plentiful. One ministered by a Saint can also produce and give healing Blood, though it is much weaker.”

“You know, we’ve got a box that says ‘Holy Blood’ or something on it. Choir had it at Redcliffe. Think it’s the real deal?”

“I rather doubt it. More likely it’s Blood from the Saints. Precious, but not irreplaceable. No, any Holy Blood here will kept close. It’s not the sort of thing taken traveling.”

“Okay, so the Blood — anyone who gets some can make more?”

“In theory, yes. In practice, however, not everyone is suitable. Some have Blood naturally suited for it, while others do not. Mine, for example, is rather useless when it comes to healing. Sukest, on the other hand, could almost qualify as a Saint.”

“Should we worry about that? If he’s got good blood are people gonna come after him?”

“I doubt it. He’s quite adept at defending himself,” An understatement, to say the least. “And even should they manage to capture him, he is both an outsider and a man. The Church will only ever accept women as Saints, and even then an inducted outsider is rare indeed.”

“Do outsiders actually mess up the blood, then?”

“I... sincerely hope not. I’ve never seen anything other than conjecture suggesting such, but then, I haven’t heard much at all. The powder keg here, Djura, looks to have at least half a Yharnam heritage. Perhaps he could tell you more?”

The world would end before Djura actually said something about the Hunt. Maybe if they went drinking? But that seemed wrong. “But even if its not outsiders doing it, bad Blood makes werewolves?”

“That does seem to be the case, though we know a rather sorry amount about it. The Church claims to be investigating, but nothing’s come of it. Some don’t believe the beasts were human to begin with.”

She’d only seen one, but it was pretty clearly something that used to be a person. “They all the same? All big and dark?”

“Hmm. In general, yes, though they can differ quite a bit. None, however, could ever be mistaken for something they aren’t. They cannot, say, pass as wolves as those in legends do. Their bone structure is generally recognizable, though never intact. It can be difficult to get a good look at them for any sort of study -- the townsfolk are rather helpless against them, and the Hunters will strike down any they see immediately.”

“Aren’t there guns in the city?”

“Yes, but most will hardly scratch a beast. Only a few things can truly harm them. This is why a Hunter will use silver bullets.”

Right. Sukest used ‘em too. “Knives and that won’t work?”

“Few will. Silver and bloodstone are the tried and true materials chosen by most Hunters. Fire too can do in a pinch, though it can be unwieldy at times to carry a torch.”

Alright, there were silver legends, but bloodstone? Didn’t seem like much of a weapon material to her. Djura had a bit downstairs for his tinkering, but broke pretty easily. “Bloodstone? The jewelry stuff?”

“Bloodstone of a different sort. Not the bright gemstone, but a deep red, nearly purple crystal. It can form in Blood after death, and is valuable to any Hunter.”

“Blood doesn’t crystalize.” She’d seen a lot of blood in her life. Werewolves, sure. She’d never seen them until recently, so they could be whatever. But blood? She knew what that looked like just fine, thank you.

“Rarely does it occur in humans, but it can happen. Surely you’ve seen it? Sukest’s weapon of choice is practically plated with it. I myself use silver, but those who can find the stone often prefer it.”

“There’s no friggin- oi, Bucket!”

Valtr, who had just come from out from the main hall, looked over. Probably looked over. It was hard to tell, but the hole was in her direction. 

“Can I help with something?” They weren’t too far from a door, so it didn’t take but a moment for him to step over. “It’s good to see the two of you getting along.”

“Blood doesn’t turn into stone.”

“No, it… well, there is bloodstone, but it’s rather rare. Rarely do even the smallest of shards form in the blood of humans. I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of it happening outside Yharnam, for that matter.”

“It can, but very rarely.” Alfred fiddled with the grass. “Only in those with the purest blood.”

Valtr shrugged. “It’s hardly my area of expertise.”

“Blood doesn’t do that, it gets all flakey!”

Valtr lifted his cane. “It’s no grand amount, but I’ve an amount here for self defense. See for yourself.”

The cane was steel and polished, but the end and handle were dark. She’d always thought it was capped with iron or something. Hunters liked iron an awful lot, if Djura’s designs were something to go off. 

Looking closer, it was some kind of dark purple stone. Not stone, crystal. It was dark, but she could see little fractal designs in it, swirled around like a spiral staircase. Bloodstone, he said. Come do think of it, the Saif did have the same stuff on it. She’d never really looked at the thing before, had she? Seen it in a fight, seen it in passing, but actually looked at it? No.

“Our secret, hmm? I would rather not have the Spymaster confiscate it.” She could only assume he’d paused to wink. “It wouldn’t surprise me if such a material was foreign to this place. Even in the city it's a rare and precious thing.”

“How come Sukest’s got so much, then?”

“Damn work of art, that Saif, but it’s a mystery to me. I know very little of what he did during the night, only know it brought him out to the woods. He was searching for Byrgenwerth, though he didn’t say why. At the time I didn’t think to ask.” Bucket turned to Alfred. “Did he happen to mention it to you?”

“I’m afraid not. Hardly said that he was looking for the place at all before he went. I’m not even sure how he passed through the gate.”

“Did he take the gate? He came from that direction, but here I’ve been imagining he climbed over the walls.”

“I suppose he must have found the password.”

“It wouldn’t have done him much good. If there’s a door keeper there, I’ve never seen him.”

“How do you get to the city then? Aren’t you a Hunter?” He must get there somehow, right? Or did he just live in the woods?

“There’s a passage that leads in from the forest village. Just a small cave in the hills, but it dips down to the labyrinthe and comes up in the city proper.”

“The big maze under the city?”

“The very one. It’s a smaller collapsed section, but a few stray watchers aside it’s the safest way to and from the city during the Hunt. Come to think of it, it just might be the only one. Aside from the gate, apparently.”

“So’s it only open when there’s not a Hunt?”

“Not even then. Passage towards the woods and towards Byrgenwerth’s supposed location is forbidden. The gate’s been closed for years now. Decades, even.”

“So all of you just take the super secret tunnel?”

“Travel between the city and the woods is rarely necessary, but in such cases, yes.”

“And your Church doesn’t know about it?”

“They certainly do. Their people use it even more than mine. If they have another way down, it’s one I haven’t heard of.”

“Where they going down, then?”

“I’ve a few theories on that myself. Recently the Scourge has made it to the village there, and I can’t help but think the Church is involved.”

“You think they put it there? Aren’t they against it?”

“Publicly, at least. Regardless of their stance, however, any research on their part requires warm bodies to test their theories on. What do the people of Yharnam care about a few missing forestmen?”

“So Sukest’s the first one who’s not a Church person you’ve seen down there?”

“Aside from my own men, yes. I must say, his appearance surprised me quite a bit. I offered him a place in the League, though he declined. Right shame, but he had his own mission.”

“The one he didn’t share?”

“The very same. I can’t help but wonder what exactly it was. The more I try to retrace his steps, the stranger they seem.”

“I thought you just saw him in the woods?”

“I did, but I’ve spoken with Djura at length about it. Ordinarily I would say a Hunter’s business is his own, but Moon Hunters always do find their way into the middle of things.”

Sera frowned. “What does that mean, ‘Moon Hunter’? Everyone keeps saying it.”

“Ah, I would imagine that’s rather confusing without context. Simply put, they’re Hunters who smell like the moon.”

“What do you mean ‘smells like the moon’? What’s the moon even smell like?” 

“It’s… hmm. That’s a decent question. I suppose it’s vaguely floral? It’s a bit… hmm.” He shook his head. “I couldn’t do it justice.”

“Certainly floral. There is something lighter to it, though I’m afraid I can’t place exactly what.” Alfred leaned back, looking up to the sky as he thought.

“How d’you know it’s the moon, then?”

Valtr shrugged. “It simply is. For example, say you were walking past the kitchen whilst they were baking bread. You don’t think if the last time you smelled bread to identify it, you simply know it’s bread.”

“So… he smells like the moon, and it makes him special?”

“Djura used to be the same, though I could never get him to say exactly happened that night. This was years ago, but it’s not the sort of smell easily forgotten.”

“How come you’re the only ones that smell it?”

“I suppose that any Hunter could. Though, it is interesting that no one here seems to notice. It’s certainly a softer scent, but it’s rather clear.”

“And that’s how you recognized him?”

“Indeed. I haven’t found anything else like it here. Besides, who else could it have been in an outfit like that? Eileen, I suppose, but I haven’t seen her in ages, and she lost her moon scent too.” Valtr thought for another moment. “No, Sukest’s the only one with it now, and if he ever knew what it meant, I doubt he does now.”

“You knew him, didn’t you? He ever say anything?”

“No, he was rather tight-lipped about it. About most things, actually.” Alfred offered her an apologetic smile.

“The two of you were close though, right? Like, he didn’t say anything?”

“No, we mostly spoke about the Hunt. He was rather confused about the whole thing. Still, he’s shaped into a fine Hunter.”

“Right, but the two of you were close, right?”

“Oh?” Valtr, intrigued, sat up straight.

“We did Hunt together for a time, though I can’t say we chatted too much.”

“Were the two of you diddling or not?”

Valtr’s boisterous laughter took even the distant garden staff by surprise.

Alfred, who’d gone tomato-faced, could hardly get out a reply. “Erm. No, I- I can’t say we were.”

“Really? You spend an awful lot of time flirting with him.”

“That’s not-” He seemed pretty blindsided. Had he really not meant it like that?

“I must say, a good number of people may have gotten the wrong impression there.” Valtr was still laughing, but had found enough breath to speak.

Alfred covered his face with his hands. “Oh, dear.”

“Varric’s gonna have to pay up. He owes Bull five silvers.” They’d made a bet the other night during one of their card games.

Valtr’s laughter returned with a vengeance, and Alfred looked ready to sink through the floor.

“If it helps any, I don’t think Sukest took it for flirting.” He might not even have noticed it was unusual, given his social skills. Sera’s weren’t great, but they were better than his.

Alfred just groaned into his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im back B)  
> a week later than i'd hoped, but here it is. hope y'all liked the info dump, sorry about that.  
> next chapter is like half done, so we'll be resuming our weekly schedule.  
> see yall next week :D


	56. lets get this started shall we

The beast on the floor was one of the larger ones. Djura waited until the last of its twitches receded before he knelt to investigate. It was thoroughly turned, unlike many he’d dealt with in the past. He felt the bones in its hand and lifted a lip to check its teeth. Warped, but recognizable. Sharp but unworn, some few still blunt. 

Solas stood behind him, confused. He answered before the mage spoke. “Give me a moment and I can tell you how long it’s been since the transformation started.”

The elf crouched next to him, careful of the pooling blood. He watched silently for several minutes until Djura sat back on his heels, thinking. “What have you found?”

“It’s… strange. The bones are twisted as they often are, to a degree that suggests a long time spent under stress, but the joints are unworn. Some teeth are sharp, but some still remain as before the transformation.” It was as though it had turned… unevenly, perhaps?

“Have you seen anything like it before?” The mage didn’t take his eyes off the beast. Transfixed, as though the beast were a house on fire. Terrible, but the only thing to do was stop and watch the proceedings.

“No. Half-transformed, yes. Fully transformed, yes. But this? I’m no doctor, but I know a fair bit about the scourge. Bloodline can affect the transformation, and the scourge itself has several strains, but nothing like this. Hmm.” Not unevenly, but very quickly? Valtr found a mage infected in the south, but said they’d only just found the blood. Could the magic here act as a catalyst?

He stood, uncaring of the blood staining his pants. “We’ll need to be careful from here on out. Normal weapons are nearly useless against the beasts. Sukest, do you have anything — Sukest?”

Cassandra, also watching the beast, shook herself from her reverie and looked around the room.

“He went on,” mumbled Cole. “There’s work to be done.”

“When did he leave?” And why didn’t you say anything? Djura bit back a curse. Too late for harsh words to have any useful effect.

“When she fell.” He looked sadly at the fallen figure. “There wasn’t anything we could have done to help, was there?”

“Not this far along.” Djura made for the next room. If he could catch up to Sukest, he might be able to prevent a slaughter. He grit his teeth. The bastard would kill anything that moved and they both knew it. “Which way did he go?”

He needn’t have asked. The next room only had two doors, and one led to a closet. The hall beyond had the corpse of a beast, practically flayed. For someone who had never seen a beast, it would have been hard to recognize. It certainly wasn’t a clean kill. 

Still, it was quiet enough that none of them noticed. There was something to be said for skill like that. For example, that at the moment it was working against the rest of them. He swore and followed the bloody footsteps. There was no way he’d gone far. The corpse was still warm. It had been minutes since he’d last seen the crow. Minutes. Why did he always make such trouble?

The trail they followed was technically impressive, but it made the former Hunter sick to his stomach to witness. There certainly were more beasts here, not that they were among the living. The trail was short but eventful, brutal to Djura’s eyes. Why exactly it led down every staircase they passed was a mystery, but there wasn’t much else to do but follow it deeper into the keep. It wasn’t Skyhold, but it was in no way small. How many beasts could a man kill in five minutes? Evidently a good half-dozen. A half-dozen lives snuffed out more quickly than Djura could walk from Skyhold’s main hall to the front gate.

They found him in the dungeons, standing over yet another beast as a second leapt forwards with a snarl. He ducked forwards under it and spun, sliding the Saif through its flank, then backstepped to avoid a third beast’s leap. The tip of the Saif slid under its throat and left it gargling, gasping for air.

In all, it really did only take him a few seconds. Admittedly, Djura had never truly seen him Hunt before. To see what he could do was… worrying, to say the least. He’d traded his feathers for leather at some point, though whether it was to keep quiet or for some other purpose was something he could only guess.

He turned at the light of the torch Djura carried, but hardly had time to shout before a fourth beast came from the hall behind them.

For all the force it slammed into her with, Cassandra’s raised shield could have been made of paper. All that kept her upright and alive was the wall she slammed into. Cole was between him in an instant, but his daggers were useless, and Solas’ fire would do more harm than good in such a small space. With Sukest on the other side of them all, well. He’d brought the stake driver for a reason.

He stepped around it and drove the silvered tip down on the back of its neck. A clean break, instant and hopefully painless. It slumped to the ground, motionless. A motion of mourning and a silent apology was all he could offer, though his heart sank as me moved on. 

“Is everyone alright?” Even as he stepped up to them, his eyes were still backlit by the torchlight. Elven eyes were something he wasn’t sure he’d ever be used to, slitted and glowing in the dark, but clearly Sukest had no problems adapting to his newfound night-vision.

“Such concern from someone who dashed off.” Djura smothered the worst of his anger before it could flare. Now wasn’t the time. Later, once they were out of here, he could have a few choice words with the boy. “Don’t do it again.”

Cassandra dropped her split shield to the ground with a clang that made the rest jump. She didn’t say anything, but she hardly needed to. To business, then. He wasn’t impervious to her sword as the beasts were.

“Now that we’re all caught up, would you mind lending a few weapons from your stash? Half our party is rather lacking.” He had to have a good dozen weapons in there.

Sukest’s confusion was clear. “Of course. Did something happen?”

“The beasts are impervious to most forms of damage,” he ground out. Did he truly not know that? It wouldn’t be the first time he’d missed something glaringly important, but this was even worse than usual. “Steel is rather useless. Silver or bloodstone, fire in a pinch.”

The blade he produced for Cole was one he’d only ever seen from a distance. A blade of mercy. Where had he…? Eileen had one, but he could hardly see her giving it up. Sukest flipped the blade apart and handed the daggers over hilt first.

Cole took them with a measure of reverence and stared down at them as if he could feel the blood they’d spilled. But then, maybe he could. “They have a song. Not like Lyrium does, but…”

He trailed off, but that wasn’t unusual for him. Sukest paused to think for a moment. “I’m not certain I have a sword. Hmm. I’ve a greatsword, but in these halls it would be more cumbersome than practical.”

He did, however, produce a tonitrus from Lady knows where. Did he cut his way into the archibald’s workshop?

“What is that?” Cassandra, at least, was more confused than angry by now, though he could hardly blame her for her anger. The surface of the weapon was made of dark glass. Supposedly it could channel sparks the way Paarl did, though he didn’t know how it worked.

“It’s mace shaped,” offered Sukest.

“It’s a tonitrus,” he said. “A rare thing, but not terribly useful without the technical knowledge to wield it. If you’ve nothing else, how about a gun?”

A pin could’ve dropped and he’d’ve heard it. 

“A gun?” Sukest raised his eyebrows. “In here? And, well…”

“Are those not used with blood?” At least she was only mildly irked, and not about to stab him. He’d heard Varric complain before about being kidnapped and nearly stabbed on several occasions, but until today he’d yet to see the source of those stories.

“Your own. It isn’t your blood magic, I can tell you that much. It doesn’t touch the Fade and there aren’t any demons. Ranged is your best option for now. You’re without a shield and that breastplate will crumple like a handkerchief. Unless you’d like to flail about with a torch, options are rather scarce.” Djura’d rather have her angry and alive than foolish and dead. “Take one, and fire it only if you need to. I’d like to avoid every living thing here pouring out on us.”

The Evelyn was rather complex for a beginner. Sukest knew at least that much, and paused for a moment before he retrieved a rifle. And damn, what a rifle it was. It must be something he’d used at some point. There was bloodstone along the barrel and what looked like a gem on the hold. 

“Hands here,” said Sukest, “and here. This shoots. Keep it down by your side and don’t hold it in front of you while you fire. Bracing against it sort of helps.”

“Helps with what?” She was considerably more cautious now, but still took it from his hands.

“It’s got a bastard’s kick to it,” answered Djura. “Force of the shot pushes back against it. It’ll feel like someone’s punched the front of it. Keep the back steady and beside you.”

“I’ll… keep that in mind.” If they were lucky, she would. It was a good shot, but that thing could leave a nasty bruise. She had a decent bloodline, now that he thought about it. Royalty, though he wouldn’t know it if Josephine hadn’t said anything. It’d certainly pack more of a punch in her hands than his.

It was a good thing they had torches or this could have been really difficult. Slick viscera aside, the floor wasn’t exactly clear. Pieces of odd wooden debris and stone littered the floor. There might have been furniture here before Sukest arrived, but now no one would ever know.

The dungeon itself was spacious. Why Fereldens built more dungeons than houses was a mystery to him, but he was hardly an architect. Something else he’d have to look into later, back at Skyhold. Did they like imprisoning people or was there more to it?

For once, however, there were no cells standing empty. Once the door was open and the torchlight cast across the bars, the clamoring started. Beasts, some more changed than others, occupied the cells. Those fit to stand or crawl rattled the bars and howled. A number didn’t move at all. Dead, most likely. It would explain the awful stench. Djura wondered if they had been killed outright or simply starved. Disgraceful.

He put a hand on Cole’s shoulder. The boy was shaking, even if only slightly. He let go to take a closer look into one of the cells. The glint of metal was visible from the door. What…? Ah. Armor. The antiquated Thedosian trend. He didn’t recognize the emblem on the front, however.

“The Order of the Fiery Promise?” Cassandra recognized it, but clearly hadn’t expected to.

“Are they important enough for an impromptu explanation?” He’d yet to hear of them.

“Not at the moment.”

“Carry on, then. They aren’t going anywhere.” These were sturdy cells, at least. As much as the beasts wailed, they couldn’t reach far from the bars.

That wasn’t the only symbol on armor here. There was another he didn’t recognize, and then the Seeker’s emblem. Well, that solved the mystery of them.

“They’re hungry,” mumbled Cole, “and angry, and scared.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Did they have a reason to stay down here? Beasts, sure, what were they going to do about any of it?

Cole froze, and his tremor froze with him. “We… we have to go!”

He started down the middle of the walkway. Out of reach of the beasts, but going fast. Djura swore and started after him. They’d just had a conversation about this, and here he went ahead again.

The others followed behind him, if the footsteps were any indication. Good. The last thing they needed was to get separated. He stopped at what could have been a closet two doors later and stood in front of it, breathing heavily as Djura came up behind him.

“Here, in here.” Cole tried the handle to find it locked.

“Step back.” He shoved the blade of the stake driver into it and pulled the lever. It yanked the lock from the door with a loud crunch and a jerk to his shoulder. No matter, he’d taken worse. There had better not be an especially angry beast in here.

The door swung out and he found himself face to face with a man in plate. The man looked as surprised as Djura felt, and for a moment no one moved. Then the man looked over his shoulder and nearly collapsed with relief. 

“Cassandra,” he said. “Is that you?”

“Seeker Heilig?” She looked as surprised to see him as he did to see her.

“In- Come inside, all of you, quickly.” He glanced around the hall. “Maker, it’s good to see a friendly face.”

The room was larger than he’d have thought. Storage, then, not a closet. The six people inside could fit without worrying over space. No, only five. One was wrapped in a makeshift funeral shroud. Unfortunate, but expected. They were settled in the corner, out of the way but not hidden. Someone respected, then.

The other Seekers were in varying states of consciousness, but all had woken with either the sound of the door or the clamoring beasts. And by their armor, these were all Seekers. Tired, filthy, and in desperate need of aid — but alive.

“What happened here?” Lady bless Cassandra for being blunt enough to get answers.

“Maker we’ve been fools, Cassandra. Damnable fools. Lucius called us here one by one, right into the Hunter’s grasp. The Order was here to ambush us as we arrived, but I don’t believe they’ve escaped that man any more than we did.”

A man? “Was he in white by chance? With a silver mask?”

“He was. Called him ‘Choir’, but if he ever sang none of us heard it. He came at us with syringes and red lyrium, always mumbling about progress and acceleration.”

“How’ve you survived? Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad to see survivors, but just how have none of you been afflicted?” It would make him seem rather callus to be this blunt, but they were turncoats he’d like to know now rather than later.

“He infected us in groups. In different amounts, or timing between doses. We were the last group. If not for him,” he said, nodding to the body in the corner, “we’d have wound up like the rest.”

“An experiment, then, and all of this is the unfortunate byproduct. Sounds like the Choir all right.” Good to know they hadn’t changed much.

“Who was he?” Cassandra stepped further into the room.

‘A Hunter actually.” He offered a wry grin at Cassandra’s surprise. “We hadn’t expected it either. Something happened upstairs — a fight, by the sound of things. This one stumbled down half burned to death with the keys. Set us all free, and told us a few things that’ve kept us alive. If he hadn’t helped with the letting we’d all be like the others.”

So that was why they’d let two obvious Hunters through the door. “Where’s this Lucius? Lord Seeker, wasn’t he?”

“Still upstairs. He was… distant. Vacant, almost. Never came down to visit, but he was upstairs. He might still be there.”

“Not to be crass, but what are you still doing here? Not much safety to be found hiding in a closet.”

“You’re right there. If we had a clear run to the door we’d have taken it, but our swords were useless against our former brethren. It was something else he told us,” he said, nodding to the corpse, “that only special weapons can hurt them. Hard to believe, but we’ve seen it ourselves.”

“Silver or bloodstone. Anything else might as well be a branch.” By the bandages on some of them, they must have tried anyways.

“You’ve a gun?” He looked to the rifle Cassandra carried. “Good.”

Clearly this hadn’t been what she’d expected to hear. 

“Don’t look so surprised. You’ll need every edge you can get. The Hunters have a few good eggs, as I’m sure you’ve learned. There’s two with you, after all. We’d have died without this one. It’s a shame he didn’t make it — he deserved to see the sun again.”

“Let’s go, then. Not much reason to stay down here, is there? The path back up is clear for the moment.” Thanks to Sukest. He didn’t approve of the methods, but they were damn effective.

“Lets. Up, the lot of you.” He waved back to the others. “We’re going.”

They were in varying states of wakefulness. One bent to lift the dead Hunter. He didn’t have an easy time of it, but he did heft the corpse over his shoulder without falling. There was one slower to stand than the rest, though another helped him to his feet.

Cassandra moved to slide an arm around him. She wouldn’t be able to shoot with the rifle slung over her shoulder, but then, he wasn’t sure she would given the chance. Was it someone she knew? She didn’t say anything, but looked surprisingly close to tears. Though, that could have been due to the state of the Seekers in general.

The halls were still clear, though the did pass through the dungeon proper on the way back. Unfortunate, but there was nothing to be done. If there were other beasts loose in the halls, they didn’t see fit to make an appearance. The courtyard was the same as when they’d left it, still empty and quiet.

“I never thought we’d see the sun again.” One of them looked up to the sky.

“Now,” said Seeker Heilig, “there’s still Lucius to see to. I’d bet he’s still upstairs.”

“How about we worry about that?” Not to be insulting, but at the moment they didn’t look terribly capable. “We’ve food and water with us. Why don’t you stay here and recover?”

It looked for a moment he would argue, but he only sighed. “You’re right. We’ve been damned fools, haven’t we? Alright. We’ll stay here. Lucius had a room upstairs. It’s possible he’s still there, but he could have left days ago.”

“That Choir member could have left something behind,” said Sukest from the back. He’d been quiet on the way up. “If there was a fight, he likely left in a hurry.”

That was true. “Well, there’s one way to find out, isn’t there?”

~~~~~~~

The upper floors were certainly cleaner than the rest. The front door was barred, but they found a way to the main hall from the side fairly quickly. The door bar was heavy, but nothing the Hunter couldn’t manage. It was good to have a quick way out, just in case.

Even if it was cleaner, there were certainly signs of a fight. There was broken furniture and Choir star scorch marks scattered about the room. Whoever attacked must have been capable. Could it have been that renegade Hunter from downstairs?

The Hunter let out a quiet sigh. He knew the others were unhappy with him for moving ahead, but what else was he to do? Leave them to fight the beasts themselves? They’d encountered two, and the second nearly killed Cassandra.

He heaved one of the side doors open. The rubble on the other side was in the way, but with enough force it was pushed aside. The hall ahead wasn’t as dark as he expected, owing to the broken door leading out to the back gardens. 

“Find something?” Djura came up behind him. 

“Back door’s broken. Think there’s anything outside?” There were stairs up, but he’d rather not have anything come in from outside and ambush them in the hall. 

“Better safe than sorry. Hey,” he called to the others, “we’re going to sweep the gardens. I’d rather avoid an ambush.”

The gardens were nice, if overgrown. The flowers bloomed nonetheless. Nature carries on in the absence of man, doesn’t it? It always would. Still, there were signs that something had been here. Crushed petals and dented shrubs were a side sign of something large. A beast, most likely. 

He heard Solas pick his way out of the broken door and onto the gravel path. “Have you found anything?”

“There was something, though I don’t see it now.” Where did it go? There were doors between them and downstairs, so it couldn’t have been one of those. 

“Is there a reason we’re here?” Cassandra didn’t sound terribly impressed. He already knew she was mad at him for leaving them behind. It was to be expected, he supposed. Still, it sat strangely with him. He didn’t like it at all. 

“Something was here.” He started back towards the door. Perhaps they’d find it in the upper hall?

Solas, trailing behind him, froze. 

“Hmm?” The Hunter turned back. He was looking… up? Oh, there was a second floor balcony. He had just enough time to see the beast standing up above before it leapt down on him. 

It was big. Bigger than he’d thought, certainly, and bipedal. Horned, the way only the largest of beasts were. It knocked him to the ground, but disoriented as he was he still felt its hands lift him. 

It held him up to its face and screamed. Damn that was loud. He shook the ringing from his ears. If he could struggle loose before it either threw him or bit his head off, that would be great. 

There was the thundering snap of a rifle and it dropped him with a screech. He didn’t land on his feet, but did roll out of the way when he hit the ground. Once out of its immediate range he scrambled upright. 

Cassandra had the rifle leveled up to its head. Something metal glinted around its neck — jewelry? No. The radiant sword Hunter badge. Well. They knew where the Lord Seeker was, at least. 

It’s fur was dark and long, and he could see the same blue sparks that Paarl carried. Fantastic. This was exactly what they needed. He unclicked the Saif. All he could do was slash at its ankles, but every bit would help. 

Djura had the same idea, by the way he charged forwards. The rifle snapped out deafening sparks again as the Hunter bolted forwards. With any luck, she was a decent enough shot to avoid hitting either of them. 

The fireball over his head was a surprise. Right, Solas was there. Well, fire was the way to go, even if it meant keeping away from the smoldering hair. He ducked under its swing and slashed at its leg. 

There was movement above him. Cole, leaping up onto its back, daggers first. From the awful shriek, the beast didn’t like that at all. It staggered back, trying to shake the spirit off without success. With a loud crack the stake driver tore through its leg, splintering the bone and effectively hobbling it. 

It howled and fell to one knee. Perfect. He trailed the end of the Saif along its hip. It didn’t take much pressure for it to split open. The unpleasant shock along the blade was expected, but that didn’t make the sensation any more comfortable. 

He closed the Saif and hacked at its arm. The less it could move, the better off they’d be. It choked mid-scream, and he felt blood spatter from above it. Cole had his arms around its neck and his daggers sunk hilt deep into its throat. 

The Hunter leapt back as it thrashed, and saw Djura do the same. Once it stopped this, that would be it. It was only a minute before it collapsed face-first in the dirt, struggling weakly as it bled out. Cole slid off its back and staggered into the grass. 

He stepped up and cut the cord from around its neck. There were footsteps behind him and he ironed to see Cassandra. 

“Was that…?” She looked tired, drained. Was she alright? The gun shouldn’t take that much blood. 

He held up the badge. “It was around his neck when we met him in Val Royeaux.”

She took it when he held it out to her, though she didn’t know entirely what to do with it. “If you wouldn’t mind terribly, I’ll go through his things alone.”

“A beast that size wouldn’t share territory. The upstairs should be clear.” Djura stepped over, Cole at his side. 

“Take Cole with you? Just in case.” Better safe than sorry. 

“Fine.” She turned back to the keep and started walking. Cole trotted to keep up. 

“Is it wise to send her off alone?” Djura watched him out the corner of his eye. 

“It’s what she wants. If something happens, Cole’s there.”

Djura watched him for a long moment. “If that’s what you think is best. Come on, let’s go back to the survivors.”

The surviving Seekers were glad to see them back. 

“The Lord Seeker is dead,” the Hunter explainer. “Cassandra and Cole went upstairs to search through his things.”

Seeker Heilig nodded. “It’s understandable she’d want a moment to herself. Cole is the younger boy, yes? Seems a good sort. Now, who might you be? We’ve yet to have introductions.”

“Sukest.” He held out his hand, and the Seeker shook it. “This is Djura, and that’s Solas.”

“We all thank you. We’d not have made it if you hadn’t arrived.”

“I’m just glad we weren’t too late.”

“Well as all this is,” said Djura, “our next course of action is, as of yet, undecided.”

So it did. “What all can we do? We’ve a dungeon full of beasts and a group of survivors.”

“There’s no cure for the Scourge. There’s little we can do for them now.”

“I suggest we notify Leliana of our findings.” Solas spoke up from the back. “She has been looking in to the form of lycanthropy we know of. It isn’t your Scourge, but it could be similar.”

“Oh?” Djura was intrigued, if skeptical. “Has she found anything?”

“At the moment she’s searching for an old friend of hers. A mage with experience on the subject, or so she said. There wasn’t a cure for the Blight before we had access to the Hunter’s technologies. She believes the reverse may hold true for your Scourge.”

“It’s… an interesting line of thought, though we haven’t a way to contact her.”

“I can contact her through the Fade as she sleeps.”

Right, he could do that. “Helpful as that is, it doesn’t help us with what’s to come now.”

“We can’t set them loose on Thedas,” said Djura after a moment, “but what about here, in this keep?”

“What do you mean?”

“If we close the main gate, we could open the other doors. I’d bet there’s enough game in these woods to keep them fed. It’s by no means a permanent solution, but it could work.”

It could, though the idea of just leaving the beasts here sat strangely with him. “It could. Camping outside the gate wouldn’t be much different from camping just outside the gate. I can’t see any of us wanting to sleep inside.”

“I believe the only difficulty will be physically freeing them. Have you any ideas?” Solas had a point. 

“In my experience, a well-fed beast in a calm place will stay calm. There isn’t much infighting among them. If we can get them fed, they should leave us alone.”

Hunting, then. For goats and deer, not beasts. “Sounds like a plan to me.”

“Are the local lords going to mind having this so close to them?” Seeker Heilig looked concerned, to say the least. 

“We’re rather far from anything.” Djura grinned. “Besides, what are they going to do, arrest the Inquisitor? So long as he’s with us, we’re fine.”

“You’ve the Inquisition’s protection?” The man looked hopeful. “Then there’s a chance yet.” 

Djura stifled a laugh. “You could say that.”

He was enjoying this. Bastard.

“What do you mean?” At least the confusion was understandable. It wasn’t as though he looked like some sort of holy prophet-leader in his bloody, second-best leathers.

“Ignore him,” said the Hunter. “Should we get to work, then?”

They did get to work. The rest stayed to begin fortifications while the Hunter went out for game. It helped they were so far from everything — there were more animals here than near Redcliffe. This was good, as they were going to need a lot of meat. 

He was on his way out for the third time when Cole came to him. 

“You should come.” He looked out from under his hat. 

“Is something wrong?” Were there beasts upstairs after all? He drew the Saif. 

“No, no, not like that, just… you should come upstairs.” He wrung his hands. “Just- just you, not the others.

Erm. If that was what Cole felt was best. “Alright, then. Lead the way.”

She was rather easy to find. Hers was the only room with a light in it, and she’d left the door open. Cole peeled off in the hall and started back down the stairs. Did he have something else to do?

The Hunter stepped forwards nonetheless. Cassandra was leaned over a desk, a mess of papers spread in front of her. She wasn’t facing him and clearly didn’t know he was there. 

It didn’t seem like she was hurt. What was wrong? Should he say something? Leave and come back, but walk louder so she might hear him on the approach? Leave and not come back? Oh, no, she noticed him. Nevermind that, then. 

Her face when she turned from the table, was drained. There was a ring of red around her eyes, and though there were no tear tracks she looked as close to defeat as he’d ever seen her. He didn’t like this at all. 

“He knew what was happening here,” she said quietly. “He knew exactly what they were doing. It wasn’t until he realized they’d infected him too that he did anything to stop them.”

Oh, fuck. Now what? He didn’t have a response for that. 

She took a step forwards and spoke before he could find any words to give. “When you ran ahead. Why did you do it?”

“I couldn’t see myself doing anything else.” He couldn’t tell her anything but the truth. “I’d rather take a hit than have any of you hurt.”

She didn’t look angry, just tired. “Did you know what we would find here?”

“Not until we got here.”

“You knew after the first that there would be others.”

It wasn’t a question, but he answered it anyways. “In all but fact.”

“You know what it means to be a Hunter.”

He’d tell her everything if she asked. If he was lucky she wouldn’t hate him for it. “Yes.”

But she didn’t ask the sort of question he’d expected. “And still you stay?”

What? Stay, as in stay with the Inquisition? “Of course. What else could I do?”

She took another step forwards. For a moment he thought she’d strike him. He’d let her. Instead, she studied him for a moment, then wrapped her arms around him. 

He stood, frozen, unsure of how to react, before slowly returning the embrace. What else could he do?

“Thank you,” she said. 

For what? He’d said before that he’d stay here, and he’d always meant it, now more than ever. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he could feel a rune burn. It didn’t matter to him in the slightest right now. 

Right now, he just held Cassandra and tried not to think of what all could happen. He’d be here as long as she wanted him to be. It hurt too much to imagine doing anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally, right?


End file.
